You are the Blood
by DeathWhistlingDixie
Summary: The world was doomed the moment the dead rose to devour the living. While others became zombie fodder, Harlow Reid endured. She was eventually saved by the crossbow-wielding southerner known as Daryl Dixon, and they were each beset with the ironies of finding love amongst the carnage of the plague. Daryl/OC. Rated M for language, violence, and sexual themes.
1. Say Goodnight to the World

**Author's Note: This will be my first ever entry on this website. Whoo hoo! It has been awhile since I've written a fanfic, and I have been obsessing over every detail of this first chapter, so I hope this works! On top of the TV show, music has greatly influenced my writing this story, so each chapter will be named after a particular song that I find goes great with each part. This one is a Dax Riggs song.**

**This entire story is named after a Castanets song, "You are the Blood". Sufjan Stevens does an incredible rendition of it, completely different from the original, but I digress...  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Walking Dead, save for my own original characters. Some of the events may veer away from what actually happens in the TV show with the inclusion of my OC, and I apologize in advance if I completely butcher the overall plot. I'm trying my hardest to stay true to what happens in the show.**

* * *

_Panic was thick in the air as two figures sprinted down the chaotic streets of Philadelphia. Street lights flickered as they struggled to illuminate the crowded road before them while emergency sirens sang out to anyone in ear shot. The older of the two turned his head back towards the girl who struggled to keep pace with him, locking his gaze with hers. She stuck out amongst the destruction that enveloped them; to him her fearful gaze was unique to all the others who ran for safety._  
_"Jason..."_  
_She called out his name, but her voice was drowned out over the horrific sounds surrounding them; terrified shrieks from the living mingled with the haunting moans of the dead. They had waited too long to evacuate the city, and now they watched as everything fell apart before their very eyes._  
_Jason reached his hand back towards the girl, his younger sister. She extended her own towards his, grasping it firmly before a bloodcurdling scream cut through the air. They both skidded to a halt and turned their attention to a scene that chilled them to their very core. At first glance there appeared to be a woman hunching over the body of a small child, yet the sight before them seemed to transform into something more sinister with each passing second. The child's screams faded into the darkness as the woman dug deep into his abdomen, ferreting out his entrails and stuffing the scarlet matter into her pit of a mouth...__  
The hazy radio transmission from a nearby vacant car reached their ears as it placed emphasis on the sight before them: "The dead have risen to devour the living..."  
__"Harlow, come on!"  
__Harlow turned towards her brother as he tugged at her hand, urging her to follow him once more. Terror paralyzed her for a brief moment. She wanted to stop to help the child, to help anyone, but in the depths of her being she knew that it was not an option. The two of them took off in a dead run in the direction of the other survivors and, as they all hoped, a way out of this nightmare._

Say Goodnight to the World

"Well I'll be... Harlow, over here!"

Harlow Reid emerged from the woods to join her companion at the clearing, overlooking a small, vacated town in rural Georgia. Clad in a fitted leather jacket, her over sized white shirt was tucked into jeans that hugged the curves of her lower body. She fought to catch her breath, though that did not stop her from letting out a small chuckle. "Well that's a sight for sore eyes." She turned her attention to the man standing next to her, grinning widely in his direction. Tall and toned in frame, he wore a haggard looking Cleveland State Vikings jersey and jeans riddled with holes and tears. His brunette locks were tucked away under a ball cap, the bill casting a shadow over his swarthy complexion. He beamed down at her; after days of scouring the wilderness, this was the first town they had come across since abandoning the highway, and it brought them a small glimmer of hope.

"It's like a supply goldmine," The man raised an arm and pointed at the various shops that lined the main road through the town, "Looks safe, too. I'm sure we could hold up here for a bit before moving on."

"What, you don't enjoy eating pine cones and shitting in bushes?" Harlow adjusted the strap of her bag that was slung across her lean shoulders. "I always pegged you as that kind of guy, Terry." Her voice contrasted harshly with her delicate features; she often spoke with an articulate tongue, with a deeper and more serious tone than her appearance gave off. This was something that often annoyed Terry when they first met, never knowing if she was serious or merely jesting.

"Do I now?" Terry laughed as he playfully nudged Harlow's arm. The two of them had grown close over the course of a few weeks since the unfortunate demise of the rest of their group. Terry often thought back on the first time him and his party came across Harlow's lone form, wandering the side of the road outside of the border into Virginia. She was lost and alone in this callous world, with hardly any hope left of its redemption. Now, as he gazed into her eyes, he found a strength in her unlike any he had ever seen. It was her that led him to safety after the others in the group had fallen to the dead, and it was her that consoled him after losing those he called friends, all of this without a single thought for herself.

"C'mon, kid," He jerked his head towards the town, reaching for his rifle that was strapped to his back, "Let's see what this town has to offer."  
Harlow's playful demeanor was quickly replaced with a serious expression. She nodded her head as she reached for her side, pulling out a Beretta 92FS from the shoulder holster, the handgun that once belonged to her brother, Jason. She eyed it for a moment, the tips of her fingers touching the barrel in an almost tender manner before disengaging the safety and pulling back the slide on top of the barrel.

"Let's go."

Harlow lead the way as the ground below them sloped downwards into the town. Dirt turned to pavement and trees turned to buildings. The streets were littered with trash and debris, a ghost of what it once was. An eerie silence surrounded the two of them as they peered into shop windows, searched the alleyways, and checked abandoned vehicles. It appeared that the entire place was void of anyone, save for the two of them.  
As Harlow passed a ruined shop, she caught a glance at her reflection in the window, almost reeling at the disheveled and bedraggled woman who stared back at her. She was a petite girl in her mid 20's, barely standing past 5'2". Her frame was at its peak in leanness, which she often blamed on the constant running and low food supply. Long blonde tresses framed her tanned and begrimed features, and freckles marred the bridge of her nose. Her eyes, however, stood out amongst the dirt and grime. They were a piercing grey hue, a color and shape that she inherited from her mother. It was a point of pride with her as a child. After her mother passed away years ago, however, it was merely a haunting reminder of what she once had, and lost.

"Over here." Harlow turned from her reflection and towards the direction of Terry's voice. He stood in front of one of the many shops, pointing at the wooden sign swinging above the door, "General Store. Looks promising."

Harlow sauntered over to Terry. "Only one way to find out." She reached for the front door, carefully pushing it open and taking a step into the shop with Terry close behind her. The air was thick and musty inside, enough for Harlow to bury her face into her forearm as she attempted to suppress a loud cough.

"Hotter in here than it is out there," Terry murmered as he removed his hat and ran a hand through his tousled hair.

"No kidding," Harlow recovered quickly as she scanned the room. It was a small shop, but what it lacked in size it made up for in provisions. Nonperishables lined the walls, as well as weapons behind one of the counters, and everything else in between. It was hardly touched by looters, to their amazement.

"Supply goldmine was a fitting statement for this place." Harlow resisted the urge to cry out in joy, turning back to see Terry already barring the front door behind them.

"You know, just in case." He turned back to Harlow, smiling wearily before making his way to the back of the room, careful to look behind shelves and counters with the tip of his rifle leading the way. He called out to Harlow, who was busy loading her bag with batteries, bandaging and other small necessities, "There's no back door, but I see stairs. I'll check that out while you stay down here."

"Roger that," Harlow replied, moving towards the counter where the weapons were stocked. She holstered her gun and hoisted herself over the counter to examine it further. It seemed much of the ammo was already picked clean, save for a few boxes that remained. Reaching for a box of 9mm ammunition, she glimpsed over it for a brief moment before stowing it into her pack to mingle with the other freshly gathered supplies. As she did this, a gleam from the case in front of her caught her eye. A large hunting knife was proudly on display amongst other savory weapons. She crouched down to open the back of the glass counter, which slid open with ease, and reached a hand inside, retrieving the blade and leather sheath with delicate care. As she brought the knife up to examine it closer, she heard Terry call from upstairs.

"Harlow, you need to see this!"

* * *

Night fell upon the quiet town as Terry and Harlow made camp in the upstairs of the building. There was only one room, and it was void of anything except for boxes of liquor and jam lining the walls.

"Now THIS is what I call southern hospitality," Terry exclaimed, taking a long drink from one of the many bottles of wine. The two of them sat on the worn wood flooring, huddled around a few candles they found in the shop below them. An opened jar of blackberry jam was sitting nearby next to a box of crackers, devoured in minutes by the two of them. "Probably the best thing to happen to us since entering the deep south."

"Well said," Harlow spoke with a mouth full of jerky taking a swig from the contents of her own murky bottle before swallowing and continuing, "although there's nothing better than a cigarette or two while getting shitfaced."

"What?! You smoke?"

"Bitch, have you seen me smoke since we met?" Harlow threw her arms up in mock exasperation. "No! I'm dying over here. You'd think a store that has fucking everything in it would have at least one goddamn pack lying around!" Harlow always spoke with some vulgarity, yet alcohol seemed to amplify that trait.

"I just can't picture you smoking," Terry chortled into the bottle before taking another lengthy gulp from it.

"You should've seen me before all of this shit went down." Harlow turned her gaze towards the window as she reminisced. "I was a whiskey swilling, chain-smoking fiend!" She waited a moment before murmuring in an afterthought, "I could be exaggerating just a _teensy_ bit. But," she jerked a thumb towards her chest, "I _did_ smoke."

"Sure you did." Terry let out another laugh before continuing, "Ah, hell, so did I. There was a lot of things I used to do before all of this." His laughter subsided as he reflected on those things. "Used to watch football. Used to go out drinking with friends. Used to go to Florida to spend Christmas with the family..." His tone shifted as lips curved into a small frown, the laughter in his eyes fading into oblivion, "I would bring my daughter with me. Every year. She loved the snow in Cleveland, but Florida was her favorite place to go..."

Harlow's face became stony. Terry spoke of his five-year-old daughter, Emily, only once before, and it was not in reflection of pleasanter times. When the outbreak hit Cleveland, Terry made the decision to flee with Emily, a decision that came too late. He was packing his belongings for a hasty escape while Emily slept peacefully in the next room when a horde of walking dead appeared. As he went to fetch his daughter, they broke through the front door. Emily began screaming and crying upon hearing the loud crashes, which attracted the undead cannibals like moths to a flame. Terry was able to squeeze out of the living room window before they got to him. Emily, however, was not as lucky.

"...And I remember how her face would light up on Christmas morning, looking down from the second story loft with that smile. She always had a lot of presents. We wanted her to know that she was loved..." Terry's voice was strained as he fought off the tears that welled within his darkened eyes. Harlow felt chills resonate throughout her limbs as Terry recounted of pleasanter times. She searched for words of comfort, to tell him that everything was alright and that Emily knew that he had loved her, yet none came. In truth, she knew the pain of losing things that meant so much to her before the apocalypse. She missed her collection of books and music, her friends, even a potential romantic interest or two. The thing she longed for most, however, was her brother, Jason. He had been a source of inspiration and strength to her growing up, something her mother used to be, and something her father never was. Even with his prolonged absences due to his enlistment in the military, their bond was unwavering. She longed for the day that he would return home, and she found it ill-fated that the day he came home for good was the same day that the world went to shit. He selflessly sacrificed himself to lead her safely out of Philadelphia while the streets exploded in chaos and destruction, and even long after that. He protected her until the very end.

Even with everything she had lost, her brother's death was the worst parting she had endured. She kept the memories of him hidden within her, unbeknownst to anyone she met, especially Terry. She felt that if she divulged this information, then it would make his death all the more real. She kept her brother selfishly to herself, the only physical thing to remind her of him was his Beretta that she kept safely in her shoulder holster. It was as if a small part of his spirit lingered within the barrel of the gun, bringing her a small sense of peace with each squeeze of the trigger.

A sickening silence fell upon the twosome; Harlow finished off the remains of her bottle, the liquid streaming down her gullet and leaving a lingering burn within her chest. She set the spent bottle of wine onto the ground next to her and wiped her mouth against the back of her hand. After a few wordless minutes, Harlow finally spoke up, "So where do we go from here?"

Terry rubbed his stubbled chin as he considered her question for a moment, recovering from his sadness only moments before. "If we continue South we could make for Fort Benning like we originally planned, that's our closest option. Or we could head West. There's a few military bases in Alabama that could be promising." Terry didn't bother retrieving the map from his knapsack; Harlow assumed that he had it memorized from the hours spent studying it.

"Yeah, could be," Harlow murmured under her breath. She brought a hand up to her temple and clenched her eyes shut in an attempt to slow her thoughts, a jumbled mess from the alcohol. "I vote for Fort Benning. Biters seem fewer in numbers in Georgia than anywhere else we've been. Perhaps that's why we've survived for so long." Harlow's words rang true. The plague was seemingly untouched when compared to other states north of where they were. Whether it be the lower population in the area or just dumb luck, neither of them were certain.

"Maybe it's that 'southern hospitality' we mentioned before," Terry rubbed his eyes before continuing, "Biters are just too damn polite in Georgia." Biters was a term Harlow was unfamiliar with before joining Terry's group. She had heard many pet names for the living dead before then; there was rotters, moaners, lame-brains (lovingly dubbed from a group her and her brother crossed paths with while fleeing Pennsylvania), roamers, gravewalkers and several more that she couldn't keep accounted for. Biters was the only one that really stuck with the two of them.

"Listen, can we talk more in the morning? I'm pretty beat," Terry stretched his arms over his head and let out a yawn. Harlow nodded with a small grin, "I'll take watch first. You sleep, drunky." Terry scoffed in protest, yet found himself passed out onto the floor in mere minutes. Harlow's grin widened as she hoisted herself up off of the ground, reaching for her leather jacket and draping it over Terry's relaxed frame before moving towards the window. She carefully took a seat on top of one of the boxes of wine, placing her new knife in her lap and peering out of the murky glass. She remained motionless and rigid, with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company until it was Terry's turn to take over watch.

* * *

Harlow awoke to the bright Georgia sunlight seeping through the window as morning came. Eyes fluttering open, she found herself sprawled across the floor next to the candles whose flames died out hours ago. She hoisted herself up off of the ground, wincing as her head seared in pain, an aftermath of the wine from the night before. She glanced around the room to find it lacking of any presence other than herself.

"Terry, what the hell..."

She checked her shoulder holster for her Beretta and her belt for her knife, grabbing her leather jacket and tying the sleeves around her waist. She stopped short at the door, however, when the loud, sickening sound of a gunshot rang out from the shop below.

"Oh _shit_!" Harlow threw the door open and bolted down the stairs with surprising speed. Heart pounding in her chest, she feared what she would find at the bottom of her stairs as several scenarios played out in her mind. The grogginess and throbbing pain in her head seemed to numb as fear propelled her onwards. She reached the last step and rounded the corner into the shop to find Terry with his back against the unbarred door. A corpse laid in ruin at his feet, a halo of blackened sludge surrounded its deflated head. Terry's terrified eyes found hers, and he immediately cried out, "We might have a problem!"

As quickly as his words reached her ears, a battalion of the undead seemed to materialize outside of the shop's windows. Terry's eyes widened in horror as the seemingly infinite number of reanimated bodies crashed against the front door, clawing and snarling for the two living beings inside.

"You've got to be shitting me," Harlow swore loudly, reaching for her Beretta, "How the _fuck_ did this happen?!"

Terry's voice shook in a panic state, "I-I dunno. I was outside for just a minute. They came in from all directions! Got one right there!" He jerked the barrel of his rifle towards the pile of decayed matter mere feet away.

"Yeah, no shit!" Harlow pulled the slider back on the gun, the mechanics grinding within. "I'm sure that gunshot brought every last one of them here, you stupid fuck!"

"I'm sorry, alright?!" Terry cried out as the door quaked behind him. "What do we do?!"

Harlow's hands shook as she fought off her own terrified thoughts, speaking over the moans that seeped through the cracks of the building, "We can't get through the front door. Even with all of the ammo there's too many in one spot." She directed her gaze towards the stairs, "There's a window upstairs. If we can make it out of that then we could run for it." She jerked her head to the side, "You lead the way, I'll cover your ass." Harlow was never much for escape plans, but at that moment they had no other option. She stepped to the side, getting a clearer view of the front door. Terry shook his head feverishly, struggling to keep the front door shut as more of them pressed against it with frightening force. He was petrified, frozen in place. She had seen him do this once before, though at that time their group was larger than just the two of them.

Harlow took a shaky breath before speaking again, "Terry, you _have_ to trust me. I'll get you out of here alive. You can't pussy out on me, or we both won't make it. Now man up and get your ass up those stairs!" Harlow's harsh demeanor seemed to pull Terry out of his immobilized state. He let out a small whimper, nodding in silent acceptance of her words. He took a deep breath before bolting from the front door, the infected pouring through seconds after, filling the shop with a chorus of the macabre and the smell of death. Harlow immediately raised her gun and pointed it at the nearest shambling figure, a gargled wheeze emitting from the gaping hole of a mouth. Its clouded eyes sought her out, and its feet began to shuffle in her direction.

She pulled the trigger three times, the loud cracks echoing throughout the musty air and reverberating throughout her head. The first bullet connected with the nearest corpse's skull, darkened matter exploding from the back of the head as it collapsed on the ground in a broken heap. The second bullet mimicked the first one as it breached another dead man's cranium, stopping him short in his tracks and falling to join the first one. The third bullet was fired right as Terry sprinted past her and towards the stairs. Harlow didn't stop to see if it hit the target as she turned and tore off after him, her legs working furiously to outrun the mindless droning that drew closer with each step she took. Once she reached the top of the seemingly endless stairs, she spun around to close the door. She caught a glimpse of the snarling horde, blackened teeth bared in an ominous leer before the door closed with a harsh slam. Less than a second later the sound of bodies crashing against it was heard, exerting tremendous pressure against the worn mahogany. She backed away from the door, knowing they had a brief moment before the countless dead would break through. She turned to Terry, who was cursing loudly by the window, "It's painted shut!"

Harlow made for their only escape route with hasty purpose, grabbing her bag as she did so. "Of course it is." Without a second's hesitation Harlow raised her bag and drove it through the window, glass shards spraying outwards and away from them. She used her feet to kick away the remaining chunks that stuck to the rim before gazing out of the gaping hole she had just created. It overlooked the front of the store and the cracked and ruined streets; A few feet down was the porch roof, and after that, a clear path into the wooded terrain that surrounded the town. A sickening realization dawned on Harlow, as she examined the way below and ahead, that the entire horde must have stuffed itself into the shop, with countless monstrosities now snapping at their heels.

"You go fir-" Harlow's words were cut short as the door crashed open behind them. The reanimated corpses stumbled over each other, and the ones that recovered limped towards their escaping prey. Time seemed to slow as she turned and locked her gaze with Terry's, and they silently came to the understanding that there was a slim chance of getting out alive. A shadow passed over his features, and before Harlow had a chance to process it, he reached for her bag and tore it from her grasp, shoving her back with a free arm as he began to scramble through the window. Words were caught in her throat as she recovered, staring at him with wide eyes.

Terry looked back with one hand still clutching her belongings, his expression pitiful as he cried out, "I'm sorry," before extending a leg and kicking out at her. His foot collided with her abdomen as she was thrust back with great force, crashing onto the ground. The back of her skull hit the floor with a sickening "thud", and for a moment her sight was clouded with darkened spots. It was so blinding, the unclear vision and harsh pain, that she did not see Terry disappear out of the window, or the undead nightmare slouch over her vulnerable frame. It wasn't until she felt the clammy, sinewy hands of death upon her neck that she acted out in instinct.

Time sped back up at an alarming rate. In a split second her hand was upon the handle of the knife strapped to her hip. She unsheathed it and thrust the blade towards the snapping creature over her. A soft squelching sound was heard followed by silence from the zombified figure. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she wretched the blade from the corpse's skull and threw it to the side, struggling to rise to her feet as several more of them closed in on her. She grasped wildly for her gun, raising it and squeezing the trigger as she backed towards the window. She climbed onto the edge, firing another shot before she leapt nimbly from it and onto the roof below. Her feet gave out underneath her as she slid uncontrollably down the slanted covering. She clawed for the siding in an attempt to slow herself, finally stopping at the edge. She hoisted herself up as she glanced around wildly, getting her bearings. The street below was still empty, save for a few undead beings mindlessly wandering towards the shop in the distance. Terry was no where in sight. Still clutching her knife and gun in each hand, she brought an arm up to her forehead and attempted to brush her wild mane out of her view, her face twisted as she fought off distraught tears. Terry had made the split decision to sacrifice Harlow for his own safety, a decision that left a nasty sting in the pit of her stomach. The story of Terry's daughter rekindled in the back of her mind, and she now wondered if Emily's death was in any way similar to this very situation.

A noise from behind drew her from her thoughts as she spun around. One of the zombies dangled halfway out of the window, exposed tendons pulsing and twitching with hunger as the others were not far behind it. She swore loudly, stowing her weapons before she plummeted from the roof and onto the hard ground below. The impact sent her crashing onto her side, yet she recovered with ease as she rolled almost instinctively back onto her feet. The few roaming biters caught sight of her, fresh meat to them, and began shuffling in her direction to join the others that fought to squeeze out of the window in pursuit of her. Without a second thought, she vaulted across the street and bolted for the woods with nothing but the clothes on her back, her weapons, and hardly any ammo to take on another horde alone.


	2. A Million Miles an Hour

**A/N: Thanks to those who read, followed, favorited and reviewed the first one! This chapter is named after an Eastern Conference Champion song, which I strongly recommend everyone to go listen to it!**

* * *

A Million Miles an Hour

The sun climbed higher up into the sky as Harlow ran from the flock of zombies that prowled after her. Lungs heaving, vision blurred, Harlow dared not chance a glance behind her as she dug her combat boots into the mire, making her path deeper into the woods. The time that had passed since her escape was a mystery to her as she weaved through the thickets of trees and shrubs. A low hanging branch grazed the side of her face; she let out a gasp as she felt the warm and sticky substance ooze forth from the wound and trickle down the curve of her cheek. It was a smaller nick, but enough to keep the ravenous zombies interested as the scent of blood spurred their movement. She shook it off as she pressed onward. Her chest burned and her body ached and screamed for her to stop running. Her gaze focused on a large tree trunk. Giving into her body's demand for rest, She threw herself behind it and struggled to catch her breath.

The shuffled steps and mindless groans were faint and distant to her as she leaned her back against the rough surface of the tree. She dug her Beretta out of her shoulder holster and ejected the magazine inside. Five bullets remained. She swore under her breath as she palmed the magazine back into the handle of the gun with an audible "click". Inhaling slowly, she peered around the tree to size up her pursuers. Seven figures were counted, drawing closer to her location. The others must have lost her scent, she thought as a flicker of hope brewed within her.

"Well," She murmured to herself, "now's a good a time as any."

She willed herself out of her hiding place and faced them head on, her gun pointed and ready to fire. The closest macabre was several feet away, its milky orbs catching sight of its prey as it shambled towards her. Fighting to keep her hands steady, Harlow pulled the trigger as the shot cut through the foliage. The zombie's rasping ceased as the bullet breached it's softened skull. Darkened sludge and grey matter spewed from the back of its head as the corpse sunk to the ground. The other six were drawn to the loud crack as they drew closer. Harlow furrowed her brows as she fired off another shot. The next bullet grazed the shoulder of another, which did not stop its lumbering advances.

"Shit!" Harlow's hands trembled violently as she fired once more, finally hitting the intended target as it slumped to join the other collapsed corpse. Two bullets remained, and she made them count as she fired them in quick succession. Two others joined the fallen, leaving three remaining cadavers who were fueled by an overwhelming hunger.

Harlow stowed her Beretta back into the holster as she took off once again. Her hand grazed the hilt of her knife, but she ignored it as she pressed on.

The sun was unrelenting as beads of sweat began to trickle down her forehead. Her white shirt clung to the curves of her figure, completely drenched in perspiration. Her limbs felt like lead as her legs fought onward. The realization soon dawned on her that she could not keep this up for much longer.

_"Yet why would I?__"_ The thought festered deep within her brain. _"Wouldn't it be easier just to give up?"_ Terry's abandonment came back to her, smarting like a fresh wound. She was alone in this endless nightmare. Why would she want to continue living in it? It could all end, right then and now. No more running, no more fear. Perhaps Jason would even be waiting on the other side...

She noticed her pace had slowed to a halt. Her feet pivoted in the dead leaves as she turned to face the few zombies left. They closed in at an alarming rate, three monstrous drooling cannibals. Clarity returned to her. This was no way for anyone to die. This was not what Jason would have wanted. She had a split second to decide, and in that short time frame she chose to fight for her life.

With what little strength she had left, Harlow ripped her knife from her side and leapt at the nearest shambling corpse, gripping its decaying neck with her free hand and driving the blade into the eye socket. It fell limply at her feet after she wrenched the weapon from the dead man's skull in a flourish. During all of this, she failed to notice a slight rustling of footsteps from behind her.

The other two were close behind their fallen comrade. She raised her knife once again, silently wondering if she had enough energy to take on the next advancing zombie that was mere feet away from her, when a soft twanging sound was heard directly behind her. A red and yellow blur whizzed past her head with alarming speed, sending wisps of hair flying in the direction of the object. The undead being folded in front of the exhausted girl. Her gaze focusing on an arrow lodged in its cranium that wasn't there a second ago. In her shocked and weary daze, she almost failed to notice the last remaining zombie that was now within grasping range, reaching it's gnarled claws out and gripping her shoulder with surprising strength. Before Harlow had a chance to register the terrifying moment, a man tore past her from behind and tackled the living corpse onto the ground, tearing it away from her. She watched, with eyes wide and mouth agape, as the two seemed to wrestle on the ground before the living man gained the advantage over the dead thing, straddling the creature and gripping it from behind the neck as it growled and snapped for living flesh. He reached a free hand towards his side, tearing his own knife from his belt and driving the point of the blade deep into the top of the corpse's head, breaching its softened skull with a sickening squelch. It writhed one last time before going limp in the man's arms.

"Yer a feisty sumbitch, ain'tcha?" The man growled as he rose to his feet, delivering a rough kick to its midsection as he straightened up, now facing the trembling woman. Tall and sullied with dirt and grime, he appeared to be in his late 30's with dirty brown locks and rough facial hair. He wore a flannel shirt, which looked to have had the sleeves ripped savagely from it, and grayed pants. A crossbow was slung across his toned back with a leather sheath for his knife at his side, both items worn from repeated use.

He towered over her with an air of volatility, returning the blade to its sheath. "What the hell's yer problem, woman?" His voice was low and gritty in tone as he scolded the blonde female, "There's walkers out an' you prance around, poppin' off rounds..." His voice trailed off as he scanned the area, void of any other figures save for the two of them. He spoke again, his voice keeping it's harshness, "Coulda gotten yerself killed. Or worse."

Harlow remained silent. The sudden impact of fatigue and dehydration was overwhelming for her as she struggled to stand upright. Was he real, or just her imagination projecting the image of a stereotypical redneck? She wanted to ask him so many questions. Who was he? What was he doing there? What could be worse than death? Her lack of words seemed to annoy the rugged man as he scowled, "Were you bit? Scratched?"

She opened her mouth to speak, yet no words were uttered past her parched lips, save for ragged huffs of breath. The man scoffed, "What are you, dumb and mute? Jus' answer the damn question!" She let out a small whimper before her legs wobbled and gave out from underneath her. She sunk to the ground, falling to her knees. The man swiftly advanced, crouching down next to her and holding her upright by her shoulders in an attempt to keep her from toppling over. His grip was strong, a comforting squeeze against her tired limbs. "Woah _woah_, easy now..."

Harlow's head spun as her vision blurred and clouded. Her stomach churned as she fought to keep the rising bile from bubbling and overflowing from her mouth. The man spoke again, this time his words held a gentler inflection, "Anyone else with you?"

Her hazy eyes locked with his own, and everything else seemed to diminish around the crouched figures. His cobalt irises swam in the clear whites of his eyes, leaving her transfixed and in awe. His acrid expression seemed to soften as his blue gaze mingled with her grey. His question was lost to her as she felt her heart thump wildly underneath her rib cage, and his desire for an answer was long forgotten. After a moment that felt like an eternity, the man snapped out of his daze, clearing his throat and removing a hand from her shoulder and to the side of her face. His calloused fingers pressed against her clammy skin as he tilted her head to the side, forcing her to look away from him. He proceeded to examine the small wound that ran across the curve of her cheek with quiet scrutiny. "Y'got banged up pretty good." His eyes traveled down to her arms, small nicks and bruises lining her hanging limbs.

Harlow directed her gaze to the ground beneath her, finally speaking with a low, hoarse croak, "No..."

The man turned back to her, furrowing his brows. "No what?"

"To answer your questions, no..." She attempted swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling her chest constrict as she continued, "I wasn't bit, or scratched, and there is no one else... it's just me."

The man moved his mouth as he spoke, yet his words went unheard as Harlow lost the fight for consciousness, falling limp into the patch of bramble beneath them as everything around her turned to black.


	3. How Long The Night Was

How Long The Night Was

The distant twittering and singing of birds was the first thing Harlow heard as she stirred from her deep sleep. Eyes remaining shut, she nestled deeper into the softness surrounding her, and for a moment she thought she was back in the bed of her studio apartment, safely tucked away the heart of Philadelphia. Then a wave of realization hit, and everything came flooding back: the post-apocalyptic world, the dead rising to feast on the living, and everyone she had ever known was either dead or had abandoned her. These thoughts grew and festered within her as her eyes snapped open, taking a moment for them to adjust before taking in her surroundings.

She found herself lying in a clean bed at the end of an even cleaner room, the beige walls reflecting the morning light that seeped through the nearby window. She winced as she attempted to hoist herself up into a seated position, her joints creaking and searing in pain. As she continued to examine the space around her, she recalled the events that transpired shortly after passing out in excruciating detail. The image of Terry's form disappearing from view shortly after leaving Harlow for dead transformed into an army of snarling cadavers leering after her through the foliage. These thoughts raced through her like a bad dream, one that was impossible to awaken from. Then, the memory of her crossbow-wielding savior came to mind and vaporized all of the other terrifying moments. The vision of him was so clear that she half expected to see his begrimed form jump out from behind the antique dresser.

The sound of the door opening pulled her out of her dazed state as she directed her attention to an elderly man who stepped into the room. He wore a white button-up shirt and slacks, which were held up by suspenders. To Harlow, the man was too sharply dressed for the chaos that ensued outside.

"Good, you're awake." The man spoke with a low and thick southern drawl, closing the door behind him with a soft "click". "You were out like a light. I was beginning to wonder if you'd sleep the day away. Could probably do with the rest, given your state."

"Yeah, I've definitely had better days," Harlow let out a low groan before continuing, "Where am I, exactly?"

"My home." The man answered simply before continuing, "You were in pretty bad shape when they brought you to me yesterday. Not from fatigue, but dehydration. I had to set up an I.V., but luckily that was the worst of it."

"Thank goodness I was out for that." Harlow glanced down at her arm, finding the spot where the catheter was placed. She found it ironic that the sight of blood and gore she was forced to witness hardly had an effect on her, yet the thought of being stuck with a single needle sent shivers down her spine. "Do you have a name?"

"Hershel. Hershel Greene." The white haired man made his way to the edge of the bed, taking a seat as the mattress groaned underneath his weight. "And you are?"

"Harlow Reid." She attempted to muster a smile, yet failed miserably as she leaned her back against the bed frame. Hershel nodded as he placed his weathered hands in his lap. "Well, Harlow, my people have agreed to let you stay here until you're back on your feet, which I suspect won't be until tomorrow. Once you've had another night's rest and are up for it, Rick and the others will decide if you stay with their group or go out on your own."

_Out on her own_. Harlow pushed the dreaded thought to the back of her mind.

"Rick, is that who brought me here?"

"No, that would be Daryl who did that. Seems out of character for him to risk his neck for an outsider, but that is only what I've gathered from him so far." Hershel let out a low chuckle. "He stayed here, by your side, until he knew you were going to be alright. I had to talk him into leaving the room or else he would have never left."

_"Daryl,"_ She thought to herself, _"So that's his name..."_ She was touched upon hearing this.

Hershel continued, "Daryl, Rick, and the rest of their group have set up camp on my property for the time being. They are also watching over what little belongings you came with. Now I would suggest that, when you are able, to go shower and come downstairs for something to eat."

Harlow stared as if he just told an absurd joke. "A shower?!"

Hershel kept a straight face, though his voice held a lighthearted tone. "From the looks of it, you haven't bathed in quite sometime. I'm sure you could use one, as well as a fresh change of clothes. My youngest daughter, Beth, left some of hers for you." He gestured to a nearby chair, where a small pile of freshly folded laundry lay. "The bathroom is down the hall and to the left. I only ask that you make it brief."

"Better that than nothing at all." Harlow watched the older man hoist himself up from the bed, making his way to the door. She hesitated for a brief moment before calling out, "Why are you doing this?" Hershel stopped in his tracks, slowly turning to face her again. "You don't even know me."

"It's the Christian thing to do." Hershel reached for the door, pushing it open as he continued, "And I would like to think that you would do the same if our roles were reversed."

* * *

The burst of hot water surprised Harlow as she stood naked in the middle of the bathtub. Not waiting for the temperature to adjust, she stuck herself under the stream pouring from the shower head. Her aching muscles seemed to relax and unwind as the steaming water worked its way into every nook and cranny. Remembering the limited amount of time she had, she lathered herself in the soap and shampoo provided with a rushed frenzy. The dirt and grim slid off of her and gathered in a murky pool at her feet before swirling down the drain, along with the worries and fears that were stored within her. The dried blood caked on the side of her face was a bit tougher to wash off, scrubbing roughly as the rest of water now ran clear from her petite figure. Finally satisfied, she shut the water off and climbed out of the ceramic tub, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around her frame. Once dry, she pulled on the sleeveless ivory top, trimmed with lace, and olive hued jeans that were set out for her. They fit comfortably, to her relief, although a bit frilly for her liking. She brushed her damp hair to one side and fashioned the locks into a single braid before exiting the bathroom with her begrimed clothing in hand.

Harlow carefully stepped along the polished wood flooring of the now dark hallway as she heard voices bloom out from below. Her eyes caught sight of the stairs, which her feet moved swiftly towards as she followed the slant downwards into the lower floor of the grand house. She stood still at the bottom of the stairs as she took in the immaculate foyer, seemingly void of any taint that the apocalypse brought forth. What the house lacked in modern wares it made up for in character and comfort. She heard the voices again, this time much clearer than before. Turning in the direction of the sounds, she made her way towards the next room, stopping in the middle of the entrance to the kitchen. Three figures stood huddled around the table serving as a makeshift island counter top, all women, doing various tasks. An older female was in the middle chopping vegetation, while the two younger ones stacked plates and silverware on the counter's surface. They all stopped when they spotted the newcomer, frozen in place. The grip on Harlow's clothing tightened as she suddenly felt uneasy. After a moment of silence, a brunette girl stepped forward.

"Good, you're awake." She offered Harlow a halfhearted smile as she set the handful of plates down, wiping her hands against the fabric of her jeans. "Harlow, is it?" She nodded her head silently as the woman continued speaking, "Good. I'm Maggie. Over there's my sister, Beth-" She motioned to the youngest of the three girls, with fair skin and blonde hair that rivaled Harlow's, "and Patricia, friend of the family." She finished as she gestured to the older woman, her features tainted from lingering grief. Harlow gave a small nod to them, unsure of how to respond to their introductions. Beth broke the awkward silence that followed as she approached Harlow, extending her arms out, "Here, lemme take those. I'll put it with the rest of the laundry."

"Oh... thanks." Harlow handed over her clothes, trying to ignore the stench they gave off, "Sorry, they smell pretty bad."

"No worries," The young girl sounded sincere, yet her nose wrinkled as the smell hit her senses. She hurried off without another word.

"How're you feelin', by the way?" Maggie began stacking silverware on top of the mounds of plates as Patricia went back to dicing leafy greens.

"Better, now," Harlow said as she rubbed her bare and bruised arms, "Hershel mentioned that there were others...?"

"Of course," Maggie began, "It was just us and my dad before others moved in on the property. A reckless bunch, if you ask me." She turned back to Harlow, studying her worn features before stating with a small grin, "You might fit in nicely."

Maggie proceeded to fill Harlow in on everything that had happened in recent days as the two of them set the dining room table for dinner, which Harlow insisted on helping against Maggie's wishes for her not to. She learned that the farm, though seemingly safe, had suffered since the apocalypse came about. Hershel's late wife and step-son had been infected, as well as others who were close to the family. She heard about Otis, Patricia's late husband and the Greene family's ranch hand, who accidentally shot Rick's son, and eventually died in an attempt to save his life. His death was still fresh to everyone around as the tale was told with misty eyes from Maggie and a choked sob from Patricia in the distance. The subject was quickly dropped and changed to the outside group that had made camp on their property. She learned that they were what was left of a survivor camp out of Atlanta. On top of Rick's injured son, a little girl had gone missing, and they were desperate to find her. While the others feverishly searched for the girl whose fate was unknown, Rick's son, Carl, rested and healed in the downstairs guest bedroom.

"And what happens when he's all better, and they find out what's happened to her?" Harlow asked, setting a steaming bowl of greens on top of a worn pot holder.

"I'm not sure," Maggie said as she tucked ruddy strands of hair behind her ears. "Dad wants them gone, but I'm not sure if any of us want them to leave..." Her voice trailed off as she stared into the distance, silently thinking about something, or someone. Harlow watched her for a moment before turning her attention to the window, a dim light flicking from outside in the darkness and through the sheer curtains. A campfire burned in the distance, and assembled around it were those in the outside group.

"They're having dinner outside." Maggie's voice was distant as Harlow stared transfixed at the speck of light. "You should go back upstairs to rest, we'll bring you somethin' to eat in a bit."

"No." Harlow turned back to her. "Please, you've all done so much for me already..." In truth, Harlow dreaded going back to the room, to be hid away to wallow in her own thoughts of self pity while the others found comfort in each other's company. At that moment, the soft creaking of footsteps was heard before a man, younger than Hershel but older than Maggie, came into view. He wore a tan Sheriff's uniform, with dark tufts of hair and salt-and-pepper scruff surrounding pursed lips. He stopped short as he spotted Harlow, eyeing her for a moment before relaxing his mouth into a weary smile.

"Harlow, is it?"

The blonde girl nodded as the man advanced towards her, extending a hand outwards, "Rick Grimes. Nice to see you up and moving."

She stared at his hand for a brief second as if unsure of what to do. After weeks spent in a wasteland of menace and destruction, social formalities felt strange to the girl. Then again, this whole situation felt foreign to her. Finally raising her own hand, she reached out and grasped his in an awkward handshake. "Good to be up and moving," Harlow stated plainly as Rick released her hand from his grasp, stepping away from her and moving towards the foyer. He glanced back towards her and jerked his head, silently motioning for her to follow. Stepping around the table and chairs, Harlow followed Rick obediently as Maggie frowned after the two of them.

"How's your son?" Harlow asked as Rick lead the way towards the front door of the house. He glanced towards her with a questioning look before she added, "Maggie told me."

"He's fine now, just sleepin'." Rick reached for the door and pulled it open. "My wife, Lori, is with him now." The two of them passed through and stood side-by-side on the front porch.

"Good... that's good."

The warm night air enveloped them as they remained quiet and motionless for a long moment. The small campfire burned farther out from them as distant figures huddled around the dancing flames. Questions swirled in Harlow's mind, and it took every ounce of self restraint to keep from blurting them all out in a jumbled heap of words.

Finally collecting her thoughts, Harlow spoke with a determined voice. "What's going to happen to me now?"

Rick let out a long, deep sigh. "I don't mean upset you when I say this, but some of the others in our group aren't too inclined to let you stay with us, and I share some of their concerns."

Harlow's stomach dropped. "Such as?"

"We don't even know you." Rick placed his hands on his hips as he continued. "We don't know where you come from, where you've been, or what you've done."

"Same could be said on my end. I hardly know any of you." Harlow turned her attention to Rick and locked her gaze with his. Standing in front of him was a a girl who gave off the appearance of unwavering strength and mental fortitude. With a straight posture and raised shoulders, she continued to stare at him until he spoke up.

"Fair enough." He gave her a lopsided nod of his head. "It's been just us for so long, it's hard to imagine letting a stranger into our group."

"Same with Hershel, I imagine, letting your people stay on his land-"

"I just don't think it'd be a good idea-"

"Please." Her words held a different inflection as they cut through his. "Don't send me back out there." Sadness lurked behind her steely eyes. Perhaps it was that, or her change in tone, that caught Rick's attention. "I can't go back. Not this time."

Rick brought a hand up and pinched the bridge of his nose, clenching his eyes shut. Harlow felt her limbs begin to tremble as she waited for his next set of words. Even after Terry's betrayal, which left her hollow and less trusting, she knew going out alone would be a death sentence.

Finally lowering his hand, he opened his eyes and spoke, "Come on, then. The others should be anxious to meet you, if not a bit curious."

* * *

Daryl Dixon sat farther off from the group gathered around the campfire, lost in his own thoughts. He picked at the remains of his meal on the plate that rested in his lap while the others spoke in hushed voices. Bits of their conversation reached his ears, yet he paid no mind to them as he continued to poke the bits of food before him. His thoughts were transfixed on the woman he found the day before while out searching for Sophia, the image of her grey eyes were still fresh in his mind. In truth, he could think of nothing else. Her eyes held a mixture of strength and sadness in their beauty, something that shook him to his very core. They were like a plague on his conscious state; no others had that effect on him, and it left him feeling unnerved.

He let out a low growl as he threw the plate to the ground, folding his arms firmly in front of his chest. They were the same arms that cradled the woman's lean frame when he carried her back to safety. He could almost feel the weight of her at that moment, with her head propped against the crook of his neck and limbs swinging limply with every step he took. He could have easily left her for dead, and he wondered endlessly on why he didn't. Perhaps it was because of her physical appearance that left him wanting to see her again. Or, he thought fleetingly, perhaps he was actually a decent human being trying to help another in this endless nightmare.

"Daryl!" A woman's voice pulled him out of his daze. He turned to find Carol, Dale, T-Dog, Shane, Glenn and Andrea all staring collectively at him. The fire cast a haunting light on their faces as the flames twisted and writhed towards the starlit sky.

"What?" Daryl snapped at their watchful gazes, partially annoyed that they tore him from his thoughts.

"What do you think?" Carol asked, clearly the one who called his name to begin with.

"'bout what?"

"About the girl." Andrea chimed in. "Should she stay or take her chances out there?"

"What does it matter what I think?" Daryl grumbled.

"You brought her here, for starters," Dale began, cradling his bolt-action rifle in hands, "and your opinion matters, believe it or not."

"That's a laugh." Daryl uncrossed his arms and reached underneath his chair, digging a blade of grass from the earth beneath him. He examined the green sparse as he spoke again. "Why would we take her in in the firs' place with if we're jus' gonna send her on her merry way? Seems cruel t' me. She ain't got no one else."

"And how would you know that?" Shane's harsh voice cut through like a knife, his bulky frame propped against the Winnebago with his thumbs stuffed into the front of his jeans. "How would you know if she ain't got no one?"

Daryl furrowed his brows as he answered defensively, "'cause she told me herself."

Shane snorted loudly. Daryl raised his voice as he spoke in a harsh manner, "Got sumthin' you wanna say?"

"You want her to stay? Comin' from you, Daryl, that's pretty damn surprisin'." Shane let out a low chuckle as he continued. "You show up with that pretty little number in yer arms, refusin' to let her go until she's safe in the house, and even then you wouldn't leave her bedside until Hershel practically threw you out-"

"Y'got a point?" Daryl cut Shane off. What he said was true; Daryl wanted to keep the woman close for as long as possible, to make sure she was alright.

"I think yer sweet on her." Silence resonated throughout the group as everyone stared expectantly at Daryl.

"No I ain't." Daryl's reply was childish as he chucked the blade of grass with contempt. "Don't even know the damn girl."

"Well I think you do, Daryl. You hardly know the girl and yet yer lettin' yer feelin's dictate if she stays or goes. Yer puttin' _affection_ in front of _survival_." Shane's voice grew louder as he spoke to the whole group, ignoring the now glaring Daryl. "We don't know her, or who she is. What if she turns on us? Takes our stuff and makes a run for it? Or worse! We don't know what she's capable of, and I sure as hell don't wanna put any of our lives on the line for one outsider."

"What if you're wrong, Shane?" Dale came to the girl's defense, "She could be an asset to the group. Maybe she knows a thing or two about surviving and helps keep this group safe?"

"So you'd take that chance?" Shane scoffed. "Anyone else with me on this?"

Silence came, save for the occasional crackling of the fire. Andrea spoke up after awhile, "I'm with Shane. I don't think we should take that chance."

"Great, is that it?" Shane glanced around at the others, continuing to ignore the livid stare from Daryl. No one else spoke. The others either kept their gaze averted from his or shook their heads. "So we're outnumbered? Everyone else against me and Andrea?"

"Looks like it." T-Dog gingerly touched his bandaged arm with a slight wince. Glenn shrugged his shoulders as he chimed in, "It'd be nice having someone else around."

"Well that's just fantastic." Shane spit towards the ground below. "Let's throw a big party welcomin' her, then! Balloons, cake, the whole shebang..."

Daryl receded back into his thoughts as Shane went on to criticize the others in their decision. He felt embarrassed, humiliated that the others caught sight of a more caring Daryl Dixon. However, the corners of his mouth twitched upwards as he fought to hide a small grin that came from the thought of the girl staying. Then, out of the corner of his eye, two silhouettes appeared from the house and slowly made their way towards the campsite. A hushed silence fell upon the group as Rick's familiar features came into view, with the newcomer trailing not far behind. She looked well, compared to when he first found her. The dirt and grime was washed clean from her sun kissed complexion, and her fair colored hair gleamed in the light of the fire. Daryl felt his stomach leap into his chest as he fidgeted in his chair for a moment before deciding to slump low into it, almost as if to cower from view. The others paid no mind to his behavior as they were too busy eyeing the woman in curiosity.

* * *

"Everyone, this is Harlow." Rick spoke once the two of them reached the group's campsite. Harlow grew uneasy as every single one of them stared at her. She felt herself shrink underneath their watchful gaze, and resisted the urge to turn and bolt in the opposite direction. Finally, after a moment of awkward silence, Rick proceeded to introduce the others. Glenn and Carol offered her a small wave, Dale and T-Dog nodded in her direction, and Shane and Andrea remained motionless as their names were mentioned.

"And, lastly, Daryl Dixon." Rick gestured to the familiar man who sat farther off from the others. Harlow's eyes met his, and she felt her rattled emotions ebb away until they were a distant memory. Perhaps it was because of his own nervous demeanor that seemed to soothe her, or the memory of him saving her that put her at ease; regardless, she was glad to find him amongst the sea of unknown and judgmental faces. He made no gesture towards her, nor did he say anything, when Rick introduced him. It was Harlow who broke the silence as she spoke out, "I remember you."

Daryl became rigid upon hearing her voice. He seemed to struggle internally with something before he cleared his throat, speaking in a low, coarse grumble, "Y'better remember me. Saved your sorry ass, didn't I?"

Harlow cocked her head to the side as she stared with a bemused expression. The others seemed almost oblivious to his comment, and Harlow was quick to assume this was a normal thing. A snarky retort brewed within her, but she thought it better to keep it hidden as she settled for a strained, "Right."

Carol seemed to sense the tension thicken between the two as she softly spoke up, "Would you like some dinner? We just ate, but we have just enough for one more person."

Harlow tore her gaze from Daryl as she registered Carol's words. A sharp pang of hunger suddenly hit her, realizing that the last thing she had to eat was a feast of crackers and dried meat a couple of days prior. She shot a quick glance behind her towards the house, remembering the home cooked cuisine and soft bedding that surely awaited her. Then again, after months of adjusting to stale nonperishables and musty sleeping bags, she felt more at ease amongst their company, regardless of the awkward vibe that resonated throughout the campsite upon her arrival.

"I'd love some."

* * *

Harlow inhaled the small portion of food as she sat cross-legged by the fire. Rick went back to the house to be with his wife and son while Harlow conversed with the others in between bites. Everyone else, save for Shane and Daryl, seemed eager to inform her on the events that transpired since the group was formed in Atlanta. Discussing their trip to the CDC morphed into a discussion on everyone they had lost; from Jim to Andrea's sister, Amy, Harlow was quick to realize that they had endured extreme heartache and despair, much like she had. It was running rampant in this new world, and Harlow knew no one was safe from it.

"And what about you?" Glenn asked as Harlow set her now empty plate onto the ground next to her.

"What about me?" Harlow didn't intend to sound rude, yet the looks she received proved that her tone held a colder inflection. Glenn cleared his throat as he pressed on, "Well, you know so much about us now. It's only fair that you tell us about yourself. Where did you come from? Were you with anyone-"

"And why were you alone when Daryl found you?" Shane cut Glenn off as he stared at Harlow with a stony expression. She felt an imaginary spotlight shine upon her as she began to answer their questions; she spoke uneasily at first, yet grew more comfortable with each word that was uttered past flushed lips. She told them of her life in Philadelphia, where she was born and raised. She explained that she had just graduated from the University of Pennsylvania (which she received a commendable nod from Glenn for), where she earned a major in psychology with a minor in criminology. To help pay off her student loan debts and nights of drinking and attending concerts with friends, she got a job as a bartender at a dive bar near her apartment.

"It's a shame," Harlow thought aloud, "if I had known the world was ending I would have ditched school and focused on other things like gun training... can't really do much with a degree in this world."

"Who knows, maybe something like that will come in handy." Glenn said.

"Eh, so far it hasn't, but who knows?"

"Speaking of gun training," Dale began, "we have yours in the R.V., safe with the others. I assume you know how to use it?"

Harlow let out a strained chuckle. "I wasn't very good at first, to say the least. I guess you could say that I've had practice." She then raised her eyebrows with a gleam of curiosity in her eyes. "What do you mean by, 'with the others'? You all have guns, don't you? Shouldn't you have them with you, given what's out there?"

"Yeah, you'd think we should," T-Dog murmured, almost too quietly for anyone to hear, "but Hershel won't let us carry while on his property."

Disbelief fell upon Harlow's features. "You're joking."

"Wish I was." The ebony-hued man shook his head, sharing her skepticism.

"Hershel knows what's out there, surely." Harlow glanced at the other faces in the group. "Maggie said they've lost people, wouldn't he want to keep his surviving family safe?"

"Regardless of his reasons, we're guests here, and if we want to stay then we need to follow his rules," Dale said, almost grudgingly so. Harlow wordlessly glanced towards his rifle and cocked her head to the side, but before she had a chance to pipe up Dale quickly added, "Well, he's letting us carry one to help keep watch."

"I see." Harlow nodded slowly. "Well, as long as my gun is safe, and this place is safe, I haven't a damn thing to complain about." In truth, she was unnerved by it. It was her gun, after all; she didn't like the idea of someone she hardly knew watching over one of the few things she had left in this world. However, her complaints went unheard, and she understood why they complied with Hershel's rule. This place did seem safe enough, at least for the time being.

The conversation eventually shifted to her life post-apocalypse. She was careful to leave her brother out of the discussion as she summarized her months of travelling, filled with constant fear and close calls. She felt her chest constrict as she mentioned the last group she traveled with, and that in the end it was just her and Terry.

"And where's this 'Terry' guy, now?" Shane inquired, gripping the front of his belt as he stared intently at Harlow. There was something in his gaze and tone that left Harlow twinging in annoyance.

"Well, to put it plainly... he left me." Harlow propped her elbows against her legs as she returned Shane's cold stares with her own, "Threw me to the wolves, so to speak. He took my things and left me for dead so he could make a clean getaway." Harlow saw a shadow pass over Shane's features, something that immediately peaked her curiosity. She balled her fists together and squeezed until her knuckles turned a ghostly shade of white. "I never expected something like that from him. I would have done anything to keep the both of us safe, and yet all he cared about was saving his own sorry ass..."

A quiet hush fell upon the group for a long moment as Harlow and Shane continued to stare each other down. There was a glint of malevolence behind his dark eyes, something that would have made her uneasy months ago. Now, however, she only felt intrigued to find out why her answer to his question sparked such a look from him. It was Glenn's voice who finally drew Harlow's gaze away from Shane as he spoke quietly, "Man, that really sucks, Harlow."

"Yeah... it really does." She rubbed the back of her neck before turning back to Shane.

"Want to know anything else, Shane? Or are we good?"

Shane snorted loudly with a small shake of his head before replying, "Naw, Harlow, we're good." He then turned and stalked away from the group with a noticeable limp. Harlow saw Dale's furrowed brows as he watched Shane stagger off from view, as if mentally putting the pieces of a puzzle together. Carol cleared her throat as she stood up and made her way towards Harlow, bending low to pick up her discarded plate. "Did you have enough to eat? I'm sorry it's not much."

"Oh, no, it's fine." Harlow attempted a sincere smile. "It's better than what I've had in months." Harlow paused for a moment before continuing, speaking in a careful tone, "Listen, I know some of you have your reservations about letting me stay, but I'm willing to bust my ass to earn my keep. So please, if there's anything I can do... tell me."

Carol wasted no time in replying to Harlow's words, "There is something you could tell me, actually." Carol continued as she spoke in a timid manner, "When you were out there... did you, by chance, see... see a little girl?" There was something in the woman's eyes that clicked in Harlow's mind.

"That girl, the one who went missing... that's your daughter?"

Carol nodded fervently, "Yes, yes it is. Her name is Sophia, she's only twelve and-" Her voice broke as she fought to keep the tears from welling up in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Carol, I didn't see her." Harlow frowned gently as Carol let out a small whimper. Her reaction broke Harlow's heart, which immediately compelled her to continue with, "But I'll help search for her."

The group seemed almost surprised by her offering to help. Even Daryl, who remained sullen and still, sat up in his chair as he watched the girl with a curious gaze.

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Dale piped up. "I mean, given your current state, do you think it's necessary to go back out there and potentially injure yourself even more?"

"I wasn't injured or anything... just a little tired and thirsty." Harlow gave Dale a crooked smirk as she dismissed her dire state the previous day. "Honestly, it's the least I can do."

"You don't owe us anything," Andrea began, "but if you insist... yeah, the more we have out there looking, the better chances we have of finding her."

"Thank you, thank you." Carol bowed her head as she turned away from Harlow, clutching the plate with trembling hands as she slowly made her way towards the door to the Winnebago, disappearing inside. One at a time, the others followed suit. Some whispered a gentle goodnight to her before leaving while the rest made their way to the small grove of tents without a single word. Before long, Harlow realized that it was just her and Daryl left. Their eyes met through the dying embers, the gentle light of the fire casting an eerie shadow on both of their features. Time seemed to creep by as seconds turned to minutes. She considered Daryl's previous outburst, and was relieved to find that his expression did not hold the same coldness that Shane exhibited earlier; Daryl's gaze was much more innocent.

"Well, uh," Harlow cleared her throat after the long silence that grew between the two of them, "I should head back to the house." She slowly rose to her feet, brushing a few strands of grass that clung to the fabric of her jeans.

"I'll walk you back." Daryl sprung to his feet, almost too eagerly. Harlow raised her brows at the rugged man as she watched him reach for his crossbow and sling it over his shoulders.

"What, you think I'm going to get into some sort of trouble from here to there?" She jerked a thumb towards the house. Daryl narrowed his eyes.

"Fine. See ya." He turned and began to stalk off before Harlow called out in an attempt to stop him, "I'm kidding!" Daryl halted in his tracks, turning his head back towards her as she continued, "I'd like the company." He let out a deep sigh before making his way back towards her, "C'mon, then."

The two of them began to make the short trek back to the house. Harlow kept her gaze forward as she listened to the soft rustling of their footsteps that fell in sync with each other. Daryl spoke up after a brief moment of silence, "Why d'you wanna help look for her?"

"Because it's a decent thing to do?" Harlow furrowed her brows as if his question was absurd. "Why do you ask?"

"Most people jus' wanna save their own skin." Daryl shrugged his shoulders. "Seems strange for you to worry about someone you don' even know."

"Valid point." Harlow stuffed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. "I don't have anything to gain from helping, just like you didn't have anything to gain from saving me. Why did you do it?" She shifted her gaze towards him with a questioning look.

"Do I need to give you a damn reason? Can'tcha jus' shut it and be grateful? Good_ lord_." He grumbled loudly, which, to his surprise, brought a small grin from her.

"Hmm, no."

Daryl let out a low growl in reply as Harlow continued, "But I am grateful that you did what you did. I never thanked you for that."

"Yeah, you didn't."

"Well, thanks."

"Hmm."

Harlow spoke again after another moment of silence. "I was lost out there, alone, just like Sophia-"

"For what, a day? Less than?"

Harlow shook her head, "Even before Terry and his group, I didn't have anyone. I was alone, fighting to survive like every other sorry bastard out there. I would hate for Sophia to have to go through something like that when she could be safe with her mother. Well, as safe as one can be in this mess," she said with a small shrug. "That could be why I want to help."

"Fair 'nuff." Daryl hesitated before speaking again, his voice holding a much gentler tone, "And thanks. Means a lot to us, some more than others."  
Their eyes met once again. Harlow felt her lips curve uncontrollably into another small smile. "You can thank me when we find her. Your gratitude won't mean a damn thing until we do."

"I like yer thinkin'." He turned his gaze back out ahead as they finally reached the front porch of the house. Harlow ascended the stairs while Daryl remained firmly planted at the bottom. She turned back to him, grinning coyly in his direction. "Are you going to follow me inside, too? Tuck me in and check for monsters under the bed?"

"Christ, shut it, already." Daryl glowered harmlessly, "Ain't gonna tell you again, y'hear?"

"We'll see." Harlow folded her arms in front of her chest as she watched him turn and trudge slowly back to the campsite without a second look back. She continued to smile as her thoughts lingered on Daryl Dixon, and her smile endured as she made her way back inside the cozy farmhouse.


	4. Another Saturday

**A/N: Song recommendation is "Another Saturday" by Stuart Murdoch off of the "Dark was the Night" compilation CD.**

* * *

Another Saturday

Harlow awoke several times that evening as nightmares plagued her unconscious mind. Each one seemed eerily realistic to her, from a snarling horde of cadavers to the ghostly figures of the dearly departed, their faces twisted and gnarled in malevolence. Each time she awoke to find the room void of any nefarious presence, save for her own trembling form, and each time she would follow these visions with a habit that was ingrained within ever since she was a child; she would pinch a random section of skin, leaving a ruddied mark on soft flesh, just to make sure she was truly awake, and that these visions were nothing more than a twisted dream.

She silently rejoiced as she witnessed the sun slowly make its way over the horizon, illuminating the sky in waves of pink and blue. The house creaked as its occupants stirred from within, readying for the day ahead. Harlow untangled her weary limbs from the soft bedding and slipped out of its confines, her bare feet caressing the smooth wood flooring below. Still wearing Beth's clothes, Harlow left her tousled hair in the same braid from the previous evening. She exited the bedroom after slipping on her combat boots and made her way down the stairs and into the kitchen. She found Hershel, his back turned to the doorway, mulling over an object that remained unseen from view. The floor chirred underneath her, causing the older man to jump, startled. He stowed whatever was clutched in his weathered hands into his pocket with great haste as he wheeled around to face Harlow.

"You're up early." The older man spoke, his voice distant and cold against the warm sky through the window behind him.

"Wanted to get an early start." Harlow stated frankly, biting back an inquiry as to what he was doing before she waltzed in. She thought she caught a glimpse of a glimmer of metal before disappearing into the folds of fabric.

"I see. I hear you're going to help look for that little girl." Hershel nodded towards her in a respectful manner. "That's mighty kind of you."

"It's nothing," Harlow shrugged off his compliment. "Is anyone else up?"

"I saw Rick and a few others outside a bit ago. I'm sure they're anxious to get out there and search."

After exchanging brief (and rather uncomfortable) words, Harlow set off for the outdoor campsite. The sun had made its full debut as the early morning rays cast a blinding light on the landscape ahead. It was utterly amazing to her how pure and untouched everything seemed, which Harlow found it hard to believe Hershel's property suffered an ounce since the initial outbreak. She found Carol in the midst of the campsite, hanging freshly laundered clothes. The pixie-haired woman smiled as she caught sight of Harlow.

"Good morning!" Carol called out. "How'd you sleep?"

"Good," Harlow lied as she mustered a smile in return. "And you?"

"I've had better nights." Carol's cheerful demeanor faltered for a moment. She quickly attempted to hide her morose state with a small cough. "Rick and Shane went off, should be back soon though. You should eat something in the meantime."

Harlow helped herself to a small portion of flavorless oatmeal and lukewarm instant coffee, which seemed to perk her up a considerable amount. Once breakfast was consumed, she insisted on helping Carol with the laundry while the other members of the group began to awaken and emerge from their tents. She desperately wanted to fit in, and felt the first steps in doing so was to help with this seemingly simple task. Perhaps this would help pave the way for feeling accepted among them.

"Are you sure?" Carol questioned her offer with a curious expression.

"Of course. How hard can it be?"

Harlow had forgotten that, to her, laundry was a tedious and insipid task. Streams of swear words, masked by either a low groan or huff of breath, spewed each time a finger was pinched by a wooden pin or an article of clothing fell to the ground from a failed attempt at hanging it onto the suspended wire. Carol, to her credit, seemed amused, not angered by this.

"You'll get the hang of it," She said with a lighthearted smirk. "I take it you've never done this before?"

"Is it that obvious?" Harlow deadpanned.

"Only a little." Carol let out a small giggle. "It'd be a lot easier if I could've carried my washer and dryer with me."

"Yeah, that's a damn shame." Harlow chuckled under her breath before the two fell into silence. They were so engrossed in the task at hand, while Harlow fell into a uneven pattern compared to Carol's mastered techniques, that they failed to notice a woman walk up, tall and lanky with long brunette locks. Harlow froze in the middle of pinning a pair of jeans to the lengthy wire while Carol regarded the woman with a small grin.

"I can't believe I slept in," The woman murmured as she immediately made her way towards the blue hamper, reaching in and pulling out a few articles of clothing.

"You must have needed it," Carol spoke. "Feeling all right?"

The woman nodded, "Next time wake me, all right? Especially on laundry day."

"I can manage," Carol nodded to Harlow as she continued, "Harlow's been helping, too."

The brunette turned to the blonde-headed girl, noticing her for the first time. She raised a free hand towards Harlow as she spoke, "Lori Grimes. Nice to finally meet you."

"Likewise." Harlow accepted Lori's outstretched hand with a firm grip before releasing it.

"Rick said you woke up yesterday. Sorry it's taken me until now to say 'hi'."

Harlow shrugged her apology off, "You have nothing to be sorry for. Besides, you were with your son. He needed you more than I did."

Lori silently conceded as Carol spoke up once again, "I had an idea I wanted to run by you, Lori."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"That big kitchen of theirs has got me thinking..."

Harlow tuned the rest of their conversation out as the familiar sight of Daryl Dixon emerged from her peripherals. He weaved his way through the grove of tents, with a long sleeve flannel shirt in one hand and his crossbow in the other. Their eyes met, and Harlow couldn't help but smirk in his direction. His features hardened, to her surprise, as he tore his gaze from her and quickened his pace. She attempted to hide a crestfallen look as the last bit of Carol's words seemed to echo in the distance.

"...Sorta makes you our unofficial 'First Lady'."

As Lori chuckled at her words, Rick and Shane seemed to materialize out of thin air, the pair of them walking (or limping, in Shane's case) with great haste.

"Morning, guys. Let's get going." Rick called out. Harlow noticed that his Sheriff's uniform was ditched for civilian attire, which made it harder for her to recognize who it was. "We've got a lot of ground to cover. Harlow, you still comin'?"

"Yeah! Of course." Harlow nodded with vigor as she fumbled with the last of the moist fabrics in her arms.

"C'mon, then. We ain't got all day!" Shane hollered out as he hobbled after Rick. Harlow bit back a retort as Lori moved to her, gathering the rest of the damp laundry from her clutches.

"Go on, we've got this." Lori smirked coyly. "The boys can get a bit antsy."

"I can see." Harlow let out a strained laugh before moving to join the small group that huddled around an old, beat-up vehicle; Andrea, T-Dog, Shane, and even Daryl all awaited for Rick's next set of words.

"All right, everyone's getting new search grids today." Rick smoothed a large map of the area out over the hood of the vehicle. Harlow wedged herself in between Andrea and Rick as she helped hold a corner of the page down. She felt a pair of eyes upon her, and shot a glance towards Daryl to find that they belonged to him. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second before Daryl tore his gaze from her in great haste as Rick continued to speak, oblivious the awkward moment between the pair. "If she made it as far as the farmhouse Daryl found, she might have gone further east than we've been so far."

"I'd like to help." A boy known as Jimmy chimed in as he timidly approached the group, no older than seventeen. "I know the area pretty well... and stuff."

"Hershel's okay with this?" Rick inquired. Daryl hastily threw on the flannel shirt over his stained wife beater as he eyed the younger man with quiet scrutiny.

"Yep - uh, yeah. He said I should ask you."

"Well all right then, thanks." Rick said graciously.

"Nothing about what Daryl found screams 'Sophia' to me." Shane's voice cut through the group as he sat sideways in the passenger's seat of the vehicle, feet firmly planted in the ground. Harlow eyed the top of his buzzed head, the only thing visible as the rest of him was hidden behind the open door of the truck. "Anyone could've been holed up in that farmhouse."

"Anybody includes her, right?" Andrea questioned rhetorically, her elbows propped against the hood of the truck.

"Whoever slept in that cupboard was no bigger than yay-high." Daryl motioned in the air a few feet from the ground.

"It's a good lead." Andrea nodded in Daryl's direction.

"Maybe we'll pick up her trail again," Rick said with a flicker of hope.

"No 'maybe' about it," Daryl scratched the side of his nose before gesturing towards a spot on the map, "I'm gonna borrow a horse, head up to this ridge right here. Take a bird's-eye view of the whole grid. If she's up there, I'll spot her."

"Good idea." T-Dog paused before continuing, "Maybe you'll see your 'Chupacabra' up there, too."

Harlow thought she misheard him for a moment. She thought this a perfect opportunity to chance a look towards Daryl while Rick asked the same question in her own mind. "Chupacabra?"

"Ah, you never heard this?" Dale joined the group, setting a large black duffle bag next to the splayed out map. He glanced between Harlow and Rick, seeing their bewildered expressions as he proceeded to tell the story while unloading guns from the bag. "Our first night in camp, Daryl tells us that the whole thing reminds him of a time when he went squirrel hunting... and he saw a _Chupacabra_."

Harlow furrowed her brows collectively with Rick as she blurted out, "Horseshit." Jimmy started snickering, which their reaction didn't seem to settle well with Daryl. "What're you brayin' at, jackass?"

The boy's "braying" ceased.

"So... you believe in a blood-sucking dog?" Rick asked with skepticism.

"D'you believe dead people walkin' around?" Daryl shrugged.

"Touche." Harlow murmured as Jimmy attempted to grab a shotgun from the hood of the vehicle.

"Hey hey, ever fire one before?" Rick quickly snatched the weapon from the boy.

"Well, if I'm going out, I want one." Jimmy looked dejected.

"Yeah, and people in hell want slurpees." Daryl slung the strap of his crossbow over a shoulder and set off without another word. Harlow watched as he made his way towards the stables as the others began equipping their weapons and gear.

"Why don't you come train tomorrow?" Shane stood up, slinging his arms over the frame of the vehicle's door. "If yer serious, I'm a certified instructor."

"For now he can come with us," Andrea nodded towards him.

"He's yers to babysit then." Shane hollered out.

"All right," Rick started, "Andrea, T-Dog, I want you guys to take Harlow and Jimmy and head-"

"I can go by myself." Harlow cut in.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Rick began, "given your current condition. Besides, it's best to stick in groups rather than wander off alone."

"Isn't Daryl going out alone?" Harlow inquired with a tilt of her head.

"Yeah, well," Shane chimed in, "Daryl's a different breed. Best to let him do his own thing."

"Fair enough," Harlow stated with an unmistakable frown. She watched as the others checked their weapons while Rick delegated search areas. She realized that her gun was no where to be found.

"Over here," Dale jerked his head towards Harlow, signaling for her join him. She complied almost instantly, leaving the group as she and Dale receded to the side of the RV several feet away.

"Can't have you go out there unarmed." Dale lowered his voice as he handed Harlow her shoulder holster, within it her brother's Beretta.  
"Thanks," Harlow gasped, elated upon seeing her gear, as she immediately shrugged it on, feeling complete with the firearm nestled against the side of her rib cage. She began to walk back towards Rick and the others when Dale called her name out again.

"You might need these," He held his hand out, four bullets resting in the palm. Harlow let out a small chuckle as she accepted them. "Thanks, Dale."

* * *

"So, growing up in Philly," T-Dog cut through the awkward silence as the group of four weaved through the foliage, "What's that like?"

"Balls cold compared to this place." Harlow sighed as she felt beads of sweat begin to trickle down her forehead. She attempted to mop the moisture up with her bare forearm. T-Dog chuckled as she spoke again. "But in all honesty, I loved it. I think a lot of people have the misconception that Philly breeds assholes, but I don't think that's the case at all. Then again, I'm from there, so I could be the biggest ass of them all and not even know it."

"Naw, you seem pretty chill." T-Dog peered behind a thicket of bushes before continuing onwards with Harlow. Andrea and Jimmy veered farther off to the right of them, though still remaining in sight.

"This ain't nothin' like the big city, huh?" T-Dog asked.

"Nope, sure isn't." Harlow said. "Then again, the big city isn't anything like the big city anymore."

"Hm, no joke." T-Dog's bulky frame squeezed through a narrow group of trees, something that Harlow's lean figure was able to weave through with ease. "So what brought you all the way down here? Not exactly a day's drive."

"Eh, just kept moving, I guess." Harlow grunted as her limbs fought up the sharp incline of the ground below. "Terry had the idea that Florida was safe, but we later heard from another group that it wasn't. Just rumors, but still. We just continued heading South, hoping to find something."

"Terry, that's the son of a bitch who left you for dead, right?"

"You are correct, good sir." Harlow smirked in his direction, attempting to dull the blow of the memory of Terry with the light-hearted remark. Making light of a dark situation often made her feel a bit better.

"Sorry for bringin' it up-"

"No, it's fine." Harlow let out a weary chuckle. "Fuck him. He's probably long gone by now." Silence came again, save for the soft rustling of footsteps and occasional twittering of birds. After a long moment Harlow spoke again. "How did you get that?" She nodded towards his bandaged arm.

"This old thing?" He held his limb up to examine it further. "Slipped and fell. Cut my arm against a broken car door while trying to hide from a herd of walkers."

"Walkers, is that what you call them?" Harlow beamed with interest as T-Dog nodded his head. "I like it... anyways, go on."

"Right, well," He continued, "If it weren't for Daryl, I would've been their main course."

"So Daryl saved you, too?" Harlow perked up.

"Sure did." T-Dog said with an amused huff. "Surprisingly."

"How so?"

"I wouldn't say I'm on the best of terms with him after what happened in Atlanta."

"And what happened in Atlanta?" Harlow inquired. "If you don't mind me asking."

T-Dog proceeded to explain how they met Rick for the first time, and how Daryl's brother, Merle, was with them. His constant erraticism and spiteful, racist nature came to a head on the rooftop of the department store, and Rick was forced to intervene. He cuffed the hate-mongering man to a metal pipe on the roof, and when T-Dog made the decision to free him, the key was dropped and lost down a drain.

"And you actually wanted to save him?" Harlow asked incredulously. "I would have left his sorry ass to rot."

"Well, we did, and I ain't happy about it." T-Dog rubbed the back of his neck. "Rick, Glenn, Daryl and myself went back for Merle, but he didn't wait around to be rescued. Cuff off his own damn hand. Followed his bloody trail to a broken window, and that was it. Trail went cold from there. Don't know if he's dead or alive."

"Shit." Harlow breathed. "I guess one would do anything to survive."

"Ain't that the truth."

"So is Daryl anything like his shithead brother?"

T-Dog seemed to mull this question over for an unnatural amount of time before answering. "Nah, not really. Sure, he has his moments, but he's a damn Saint compared to Merle. Took that walker out that wanted to make a meal of me, and then gave me his brother's stash of pills. Uh, the antibiotics." He added in a rush. "Wound got infected. Would've been dead without it."

"Huh. No shit?" Harlow said slowly. "And all of this surprises you about him?"

"Daryl would've never done this sort of thing with Merle around. He's really stepped up since that shit in Atlanta. Searching for Sophia, saving my black ass - and your cracker ass." T-Dog gave Harlow a toothy grin as she snickered.

"Maybe not having Merle around is better for Daryl, as terrible as it is to say." Harlow shrugged. "Without his brother's influence, he can be his own man, and make his own decisions without worrying about gaining approval from his... wait..." Her words trailed off into oblivion as she glanced around wildly. It was just her and T-Dog, with no other presence in sight. "Where's Andrea and Jimmy?"

The two of them halted in place as they each scanned their surroundings. The others were no where in sight. Harlow silently cursed herself for allowing her attention to be drawn solely to their conversation.

"You've gotta be shittin' me." T-Dog attempted to keep his voice level as he veered to the right, his pace quickening as he made his way into the direction the missing members of the group were seen last.

"They can't have gotten far-" Her words were cut short as a distant scream echoed in the distance, followed by the loud crack of a gunshot, sending a flock of birds flying from the tops of the trees and dotting the clear sky in fluttering splotches. The two of them shared a brief, terrified glance before tearing off into the direction of the sudden noise.

"Oh fuck, oh shit..." Harlow's swearing mingled with T-Dog's own choice words. She vaulted past the broad-figured man, who ran as fast as he could, yet was no match for her swift movements. She leapt nimbly over a large log strewn in their path and ducked under a thicket of low-hanging branches as T-Dog fell farther behind with each passing second. Her heart throbbed against her rib cage, exhaustion mingling with fear for her lost companions in the woods, regardless of how well she knew them. This was always her biggest weakness, even before this new world came into being. Regardless of her stern demeanor, she was always caring of others to a fault. With the amount of times she had risked her neck for someone else, she often found it a wonder that she was still alive herself.

The unmistakable sound of leaves rustling drew closer as Harlow pressed onward. She came to a clearing, and skidded to a halt at the sight before her: Andrea and Jimmy stood, seemingly unharmed, over a motionless corpse. Dark, greasy matter was splayed on the ground next to its deflated head. The gun clutched in Andrea's hands trembled as she slowly lowered her arms back to her side. Jimmy stood with both hands clasped against his mouth as he stared at the mass of rotten flesh with wide, unblinking eyes. A moment that felt like an eternity ensued before T-Dog broke into the scene, panting heavily as his eyes darted back and forth from the back of Harlow's head to the rest of the scene before him.

"W-what the hell happened? Is everyone all right?"

"Yeah... yeah, we're fine." Andrea swallowed before croaking out in a hoarse whisper. "Walker caught us off guard. Got it before it could get Jimmy."

"I-I knew him," Jimmy's words were muffled as he spoke through his hands. "Dillon Haynes. Went to high school with him. Awful nice kid... more than just some 'walker'."

His words brought a somber silence from the others, yet Harlow seethed within. She could have scolded them for wandering off, or for even firing off the gun under the risk of attracting a herd with even the slightest noise, just for one walker. She thought of doing these things; instead, she settled for a small bow of her head and a genuine, "Thank Christ you're both okay."

"Let's keep going," Andrea said after a long moment of silence. "I'm sure that shot attracted every walker in miles."

The small group trudged onward in speechlessness, more alert than before. Harlow's hand flinched towards her Beretta with every unnatural, distant sound, unsure if it was her imagination playing tricks on her or something more sinister. Luckily for them, no other walker crossed their path, and before long they gave up their search for Sophia and decided to make their way back towards Hershel's farm. Harlow fleetingly thought about Daryl, wondering where he was and what he was doing as they marched ahead. Maybe, she hoped, he was back at camp awaiting their arrival. What she didn't realize was, at that moment, Daryl Dixon was stranded in a ravine miles away from Harlow, injured and fighting for his life against two monstrous beings.

* * *

Harlow unrolled the group's spare sleeping bag, one that was given to her by Carol upon her return to the campsite. Rick and Shane appeared moments before their arrival, yet Daryl was still no where in sight, and as the day grew longer, Harlow grew more anxious with every passing minute. She attempted to find ways to keep her mind occupied: she gathered supplies for the women who worked frantically in the kitchen to prepare dinner, helped with cleaning the group's gun collection, and now, worked on setting up her own sleeping quarters. She heard others move about the campsite; T-Dog munched on a piece of fruit by the picnic table, Glenn made his way out of the RV with a book in his clutches, and Andrea sat on the roof of the RV, wearing a straw cowboy hat and clutching Dale's rifle. Harlow paid no mind to them as she finished laying out the musty bedroll, brushing away mystery particles from the top of it.

"Does that work for you?" A voice boomed from behind, and Harlow jumped, startled at the sudden noise. She turned her head to find Dale standing mere feet away, the sloping brim of his hat shielding his face from the beaming sunlight. "The sleeping bag, is it all right?"

"Yeah, this is fine. I appreciate it." Harlow nodded her head swiftly before rising to her feet, pivoting her body to fully face the older man.

"Too bad we don't have an extra tent," Dale lamented. "I hate to see you sleeping out here with no real shelter. I'm sure we'll find something for you before long."

"It's fine, really." Harlow mustered a sincere grin. "It's the best sleeping arrangement I've had in weeks... besides Hershel's house, of course."

"You can't beat that." Dale let out a low chuckle before continuing with a more serious tone. "Andrea told me about what happened today, about her taking out a walker."

"That's right." Harlow nodded her head.

"And she handled it well?" Dale noted Harlow's look of confusion at his question, and quickly elaborated. "Andrea's not... experienced with handling a gun, or dealing with walkers. At least not as much as some of the others."

"Appears she did." Harlow shrugged. "Only heard one shot fired, and she hit her target. Looks like it really amped her up." She nodded towards Andrea's distant frame, perched on top of the RV as she took watch. The way she carried herself, pacing the hot metal roof while wearing the hat, Harlow thought it slightly comical.

"Yeah, she's a regular Calamity Jane, that one." Dale let out another chuckle. "Glad to see she's all right... and everyone else, for that matter."

"Not everyone... Daryl's not back." Harlow said, unable to keep her concerns to herself for a moment longer.

"Are you worried about him?"

"I am, yeah."

"Trust me, you don't know him like the rest of us do." He gave her a reassuring smile. "He's taken it upon himself to put extra efforts in searching for Sophia, I'm sure he's just covering more ground than he needs to in one day."

"You think so?" Harlow asked with slight skepticism.

"I can almost bet you that that's the case. Daryl's a stubborn one, that's for sure." Dale's grin broadened. "You seem to have taken quite an interest in him, given your limited amount of time here with us."

If there was one thing Harlow was good at, it was masking her embarrassment. She replied straight-faced, without a moment of awkward hesitation, "He saved my life. Brought me here, where it's safe, with people who seem genuine and kindhearted. It's hard not to take special interest in him. I owe him my life."

"I can understand that." Dale nodded his head in slight reverence. "Although, I can't stand here and tell you that all of us are 'genuine' and 'kindhearted' and fully believe it myself."

Harlow furrowed her brows as a question to his comment was on the tip of her tongue. Before she had a chance to speak, however, Andrea's voice rang out through the peaceful air.

"Walker... _Walker_!"

The atmosphere changed drastically as everyone sprung into action around her; Glenn sprinted to his pack to retrieve a gator machete, T-Dog grabbed a metal baseball bat, and Shane went for a menacing pickaxe. Dale rushed to the side of the RV, Harlow not far behind. She squinted in the direction of Andrea's gaze, spotting a distant figure that moved painfully slow against the wall of lush trees, making its way towards the campsite.

"Just the one?" Rick asked as he brought a hand up to his brow in an attempt to shield his eyes from the unrelenting sunlight. Andrea peered through her binoculars before lowering it, nodding her head.

"I bet I can nail it from here." She bent low to pick up the rifle.

"No _no_, Andrea, put the gun _down_!" Rick ordered as the men brandishing weapons made haste towards the distant figure.

"You'd best let us handle it." Shane shouted, his shirt unbuttoned as he flaunted his chiseled midsection.

"Shane, hold up!" Rick cried out. "Hershel wants to deal with walkers!" Harlow furrowed her brows at this bit of news. _Hershel_? She could not picture the elderly man getting his weapon of choice up and roaring against a horde of undead monsters.

"What for, man? We got it covered." Shane huffed as he limped onwards, leading T-Dog and Glenn. Rick swore loudly as he bolted past Harlow and towards the RV, disappearing inside for a brief moment before emerging, his pistol in hand. Dale clung halfway up the ladder on the vehicle for dear life as Rick tore off in the direction of the others. Harlow was rooted to the ground below as she watched the men sprint towards the lone, distant figure. She heard the distinctive clicking of the rifle as Andrea took aim, clearing disregarding Rick's orders.

"Andrea, don't-" Dale pleaded. Harlow glanced up and saw something in the man's eyes that left her feeling uneasy.

"Back off, Dale." Andrea hissed as she laid down on the roof of the RV to get a clearer shot, staring intently through the scope of the weapon. Harlow turned her attention back to the group ahead, now face-to-face with the unknown being. Neither one of them made a move to attack. Why hadn't they? Why was the creature not advancing on them?

"Andrea, seriously, knock it off!" Harlow's words came too late; a shot exploded from behind her as Andrea squeezed the trigger of the rifle. She jolted at the abrupt sound, gasping as her eyes clenched tightly shut for a split second. She opened them just in time to see the distant figure fold to the ground, followed by the faraway, frantic cries of Rick.

"No! _No_!"

Harlow felt her heart sink into the pit of her stomach. Without a moment's hesitation, Harlow tore off in the direction of the group of men, her limbs working furiously to keep up with her fast-paced thoughts that buzzed in a frenzy of chaos and fear. She feared who Andrea gunned down, and she could have guessed who it was even before she reached his collapsed form.

Daryl's crossbow lay forgotten to the side of his bloodied and beaten form. He was coated in grime from head to foot, and Harlow would have easily mistaken him for a dead thing if he hadn't have cried out, "I was _kidding_!"

Rick and Shane each grabbed an arm and hoisted the injured man up. He struggled for a moment, and as his clear eyes caught sight of Harlow, he slumped against the two men, losing his fight for consciousness.

Harlow stood feet away from the scene, a hand involuntarily clutching at her chest. The bullet barely grazed the side of his head, and she hastily noted that it was not a mortal wound. Her eyes trailed to his side and found a makeshift bandage made from his tattered shirt, soaked in blood, and she felt her throat constrict. He was alive, he had to be. Through all of this, she failed to notice the string of ears around his neck.

"Outta the way," Shane barked as they fought to heave the unconscious Daryl back towards the house, his feet dragging against the lush grass beneath them. Harlow jumped to the side just in time as small group pushed past; while Rick and Shane pulled Daryl, Glenn carried the man's crossbow and T-Dog held his and Shane's weapons. Harlow's steps fell in sync with theirs, wedged in between Rick and Glenn. She was so beset with shock that she didn't notice Andrea and Dale sprint up to them until they were face-to-face with the group, fear glazing their expressions.

"Oh my God... Oh my God is he dead?!" Andrea's anguished cries echoed in Harlow's ears as she fought back a nasty retort.

"Unconscious," Rick hissed, "you just grazed him." There was a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"But look at him! What the hell happened?!" Glenn cried out, pointing the tip of his machete at Daryl. "He's wearing _ears_!"

Curiosity got the best of Harlow as she chanced a glance towards Daryl, almost reeling back as she noticed what Glenn was referring to. A chain made of shoelaces hung around his neck, ruddied and caked with blood, and at the end, two pairs of severed ears dangled.

"Holy _shit_," Harlow hissed.

"Let's keep that to ourselves." In one fluid motion, Rick tore the makeshift necklace from Daryl and shoved it blindly towards Harlow. The string flung wildly as she was caught off guard, fumbling with the grotesque object in her hands. If this had happened months ago, she would have spewed the contents of her stomach onto the ground.

"Don't let Hershel see this." Rick warned under his breath. Thinking of nothing else, she swiftly stuffed the necklace underneath the shirt, grimacing as the decaying body parts came into contact with the bare skin of her chest. She would find a more suitable hiding place for his trophies once she knew he was safe and sound, she promised fleetingly to herself.

"Guys... isn't this Sophia's?" The group stopped as they collectively turned towards T-Dog, who stood several paces back, clutching a worn doll in his hands. No one moved, or said anything, for a moment that felt like an eternity.

* * *

**A/N: The next one will be dedicated soley to Daryl and Harlow! Thanks to everyone for reading! :)**


	5. Special Death

**A/N: Song recommendation is Mirah's "Special Death". Such a gut-wrenching tune that I thought fit nicely with this chapter. Definitely worth a listen! As always, thanks to everyone for the reviews, follows, and favorites! Feel free to send me comments and suggestions!**

* * *

Special Death

Silence engulfed the dimly lit room as Daryl laid in Hershel's own bed, suffocated by the noiseless calm that ensued after the last visitor left the dreary space. Carol had come, only an hour earlier, to bring him a plate filled with home cooked goodness. Despite the alluring scent of ham and other delectables wafting in his direction, he could not muster up the desire to indulge himself in it. The searing pain in his side, accompanied by a throbbing wound near his temple, kept hunger at bay as he laid helpless in the soft bedding. The sheets were drawn back from his torso, revealing scars, both old and new. The faded wounds, ones that were inflicted years ago, told a story, one that he would not give others the satisfaction of knowing. They were his own to endure, and no one else's right to know.

Daryl attempted to pull himself up into a seated position, wincing in agony. He felt another jolt of pain surge through him, yet it was not from any physical injury upon his haggard frame. He had received praises from Carol and brief, commendable words of encouragement from the others at his efforts to bring Sophia back, all of which he felt undeserving of. He failed to bring the child back. Instead, he brought back her doll; a lifeless, grimy doll. It brought him hope that she was alive, somewhere out there, yet why was it taking so long to find her? Why couldn't it have been that very day? Instead, she was doomed to another night in the dank, dark woods. He shot a hateful glance at the plate near him, resisting the urge to channel his anger through the inanimate object and to hurl it across the room, to see the ceramic burst into shards and clatter to the ground in a broken heap. At that moment, his erratic thoughts were suppressed as the floor outside of the room creaked and groaned, followed by the gentle rapping on the door as an unknown visitor stood, waiting for clearance inside.

"Daryl?" A woman's voice called out, her smooth voice seeping through the cracks around the wooden frame. "Can I come in?"

As others didn't bother waiting for permission to enter earlier, Daryl was caught off guard by the woman's polite nature. He hastily slumped back into the covers, drawing the sheets to cover up the majority of his lacerations.

"Go on, then." Daryl croaked out, loud enough for the woman to hear before she carefully jarred the door open. Harlow's familiar head poked through first before squeezing the rest of her frame through the narrow passageway. Her arms were loaded with various supplies; a metal basin filled with a steaming clear liquid appeared to be the largest of the bunch, along with a mixture of rags, bandaging and bottles of unknown ointments.

"Oh, it's you." Daryl didn't mean to sound rude, in fact, he was relieved to find her there. This was the first time he had seen her since the brief moment before losing consciousness, and her presence now, as she stood before him, brought him a hasty moment of peace.

"Sorry to disappoint," She deadpanned, clearly taking his words to mean that he was discontent with her sudden appearance. She thrust a hip out to close the door, which obeyed at her touch. "The doctor is in."

"Hershel doctored me up pretty good earlier. Don't need nothin' else." Daryl ignored a queasy sensation that bubbled within his midsection at the sight of her unloading the supplies from her arms and onto the surface of the dresser, opposite of the bed that he was laid up in.

"That's not what he told me," Harlow stated with her back turned to him. "He wants those cuts cleaned. Again." She shrugged as she turned to face him, a worn, yet clean rag in her clutches. "He's done so much already, so I offered to step in on his behalf." She displayed a sarcastic bow, waving her arms in a flourish. "_Tah-dah!_"

Daryl snorted. "Well, ain't you somethin' special."

"You're damn right I am." Her gaze traveled to the nightstand closest to the door, eyeing his untouched meal with quiet scrutiny. She reached behind her for the basin and carried it towards the bed, setting it onto the floor as the watery contents sloshed within. Daryl watched her the entire time, unable to look away until she turned to stare expectantly at him.

"Move over." Her voice was stern, yet gentle enough, and he was unable to do anything but obey wordlessly, inching away from the edge of the bed as she slowly lowered herself onto the mattress, sitting where his body laid seconds ago. She bent over and gingerly dunked the dry cloth into the warm water, wringing the excess moisture from it before straightening up and turning back to him. She smirked as she caught sight of his hands, clutching the blanket that seemed to have moved closer to his chin with balled fists. There was something in his face that suggested apprehension.

"Oh, come on, I'm not going to hurt you."

Daryl's body remained rigid, her words failing to bring an ounce of comfort to him. He was accustomed to having wounds inflicted upon him, not having someone selflessly tend to them. This was deeply ingrained within from years of living with an abusive father, and a brother who only comforted him with brash words.

"You can trust me, Daryl." She gave him a sincere, yet stern nod of her head. From the corner of his eye he could see her delicate features, bathed in the lamp's warm, albeit dim, lighting. Against his mind's protest for him not to, his body did what she wanted, feeling the grip on the sheets slacken.  
"There we go," She spoke, barely above a whisper, as she gripped the covering with a gentle hand and slowly drew it back, revealing what he fought to hide for so long. He turned his head to the side and away from her in shame as she began running the damp rag along the curves of his toned shoulder, grazing over the minor nicks and cuts he sustained that very day. His body tensed under the fabric, mopping up whatever grime was leftover from earlier.

"Jesus, are you a dirt magnet or something?" Harlow murmured rhetorically. Daryl furrowed his brows; whether she was that oblivious to his faded scars or too polite to point them out, he was unsure. He didn't reply, and nothing was said for a long period of time as Harlow continued to work the washcloth along the other wounds, occasionally pausing to re dip it into the basin at her feet.

"See, is this so bad?" Harlow spoke after a long moment.

"Naw, guess not." In fact, Daryl found it rather soothing. His muscles relaxed a considerable amount, finally growing accustomed to her tending to his recent abrasions. He brought a hand up and tucked it behind his bandaged head, letting his guard down for the first time since she entered the room. "You have experience doin' this?"

"Not as much as Hershel. I have a bit of a confession to make, actually." She paused for dramatic effect. Curiosity got the better of Daryl as he turned his head back to face her, brows raised.

"Well, spit it out, already!"

"I'm not really a doctor." She gave him a playful grin. Daryl snorted loudly in mild annoyance.

"'Course you ain't."

"Shocking, right? My only claim to medical knowledge comes from when I was a child," She began in her usual articulate manner, standing up and making her way towards the dresser. She continued to speak as she grabbed a few more supplies. "I was in a car accident when I was eight. I had to get ten stitches in my leg. Still have a scar and everything!" She motioned towards her outer thigh before taking a seat once again, the mattress groaning under her weight. Daryl felt his face burn in embarrassment when he realized he had stared at her leg longer than intended. "My mom was a doctor, so she showed me how to clean and take care of it. We're gonna see how well I remember what she told me." She gave him a crooked grin before unscrewing a bottle, taking the same rag and dumping a moderate amount of its contents onto it.

"You sure talk a lot, don'tcha."

Harlow tilted her head to the side as she considered him for a moment. "Does that bother you or something?"

"Not really. Guess yer better company than that sorry bunch out there."

"You really think so?" Harlow questioned with mild skepticism. "You sure have a funny way of showing it."

"Well you put up with it with a damn smile on yer face. Thought I'd scare you off by now."

"I think you'd have to do a lot more if that's your endgame."

"It ain't-" Daryl jerked away from her as she prepared to dab the rag onto a fresh cut located on his chest. "The hell is that?!"

"Easy, Rambo, it's just soap!" She let out a small laugh as she showed him the bottle. "'Hibiclens'. Some fancy pharmacy shit. I remember when I had to wash my leg with this stuff. It won't burn. I meant it when I said I wasn't going to hurt you. Have a little faith!"

Daryl let out a long sigh as he nodded for her to proceed, "Go on, then."

She was right, he thought, it didn't burn. She worked the latherless soap around each and every visible abrasion as he closed his eyes, feeling completely at ease. The gentle pressure she used, accompanied by her slow breathing and warm fingers, was enough to lull him into a peaceful state.

"What happened to her?" He asked after a long moment of dead air. "Yer mom, I mean. She still out there?"

"Oh, she died a long time ago." Harlow cleared her throat as Daryl opened his eyes, catching a glimpse of her profile. "She was gone years before people started eating each other. Lucky her, I guess." She added bitterly.

"Sorry to hear that." Daryl grunted out in a sincere apology. "Mine's gone, too." He was surprised to hear those words come out of his mouth, to a girl he hardly knew.

"Oh." Her eyes widened in mild astonishment at this revelation. "I'm sorry as well."

"It's nothin'. Happened a long ass time ago, anyways." He paused, mulling over the question on the tip of his sharp tongue before blurting out, "Mind if I ask how it happened?"

Harlow swallowed before speaking. "Suicide. I... uh, found her in the basement after she hung herself." She hid her features from Daryl as she bent low to dunk the washcloth into the basin. "Pretty shitty thing for a twelve-year-old to walk in on. The neighbors called the cops after they heard me screaming bloody murder. My dad came home from work shortly after, and the first thing he did after the cops and paramedics left with my mom was beat me senseless. That was the first and only time he ever laid a hand on me, and after that he went down the emotionally abusive route. I think he blamed me for her death, thinking I should have somehow stopped it. For the longest time I wondered if it really was my fault... still do, on occasion."  
Daryl watched as her trademark demeanor melted into an unrecognizable morose state, holding the damp rag between limp fingers. He felt anger boil within him at her story, his faded scars burning with the memories of his own abusive father, and was unable to sit quietly any longer.

"That's a load of horseshit, and you know it." Daryl's jagged words tore her away from whatever dark thoughts that consumed her, her eyes staring wide and unblinking at him as he continued. "Ain't nothin' you could've done to change what happened, and yer dad's a damn fool for even thinkin' somethin' like that, and yer an even bigger idiot if you still believe it."

Harlow's expression remained unreadable for the longest time. Eventually, strength returned to her features as she let out a hefty chuckle.

"Somethin' funny about that?" Daryl rounded on her.

"No... no, it's just - you sound just like my brother." She choked out through fits of laughter.

"Is that so?" He said in a surly manner.

"Mhm. He always said dad was a shitbag for the way he treated me." Her laughter subsided into oblivion.

"Sounds like you've got a damn good brother, then."

"Yeah... yeah, I do." She gave a tender grin as she stared off into the distance. He was oblivious to to the fact that her even speaking about her brother broke the biggest rule she stood by, which was to never speak of him at all.

"I guess I just grew accustomed to my dad's behavior over time."

"You shouldn't've had to put up with that in the first place. Hell, no one deserves that."

"You're right." She spoke absentmindedly before returning to the task at hand, wiping his skin clean and patting it dry with a fresh, clean washcloth.

"Well, that's done. Do you mind if I check your stitches real quick?"

Daryl let out a grunt of approval, jerking his head in a small nod.

"I assume that's Daryl talk for 'go right ahead'." She gave him a crooked grin before tucking a strand of hair behind an ear.

"You catch on quick, don'tcha?"

"You're damn right I do." She then proceeded to help him roll onto his side with a tender touch, careful to avoid coming into contact with any fresh cut. He groaned as the pain from his more severe wounds pulsed throughout his fatigued limbs. With his back now facing the girl, he constantly turned his head to glance at her features, which radiated tenderness.

"Do you really think that about the others?" Harlow inquired while she worked on prying the tape that kept the bandaging in place away. "You called them a 'sorry bunch'. Is that what you really think?"

Daryl picked at the edge of the sheets as he contemplated her question. "Guess I don't. Not anymore, at least. If that were the case, I'd be long gone."

"Well, good. I didn't think you felt that way."

"Why d'you say that?"

"Well, like you said, you're still here." Harlow murmured onwards as she messed with the gauze covering his stitched wound. "You saved T-Dog, constantly help keep the group safe, and almost risked your own life to look for Carol's daughter. I don't think you would do any of that stuff if you didn't care."

"How d'you know 'bout all that?" Daryl narrowed his eyes skeptically. "Besides gettin' banged up somethin' awful today for that little girl."  
"T-Dog told me. Plus, just stuff some of the others have said."

Daryl gave a contrived huff, "Hmm, I bet they said a lot of other stuff 'bout me, too. Havin' a nice laugh at the stupid redneck."

Harlow stopped what she was doing, her brows furrowed. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

Daryl's thoughts wandered back to being stranded in the ravine. He remembered vividly, as he struggled to maintain lucidity, the ghostly vision of his brother hovering over his frame while lying supine in shallow waters. The apparition spewed repugnant nonsense, much like the real Merle, and each word tugged at his weary mind. Even now, as he lay next to Harlow's perched frame, he could hear his brother's words echo in his mind like a plague:

_"All these years I've spent, tryin' to make a man outta you, 'n this is what I get... You're a joke, is what you are, playin' errand boy to a bunch of pansy-asses, niggers, and democrats. You're nothin' but a freak to them. Redneck trash. That's all you are. They're laughin' atcha behind your back... you know that, don'tcha? Got a little news for you, son. One of these days they gonna scrape you off their heels like you was dogshit... they ain't your kin, your blood... ain't nobody ever gonna care 'bout you except me, little brother... ain't nobody ever will..."_

"Don't mean nothin'. Jus' forget it." Daryl grumbled, folding his arms as he mentally pulled away from the girl who, unlike Merle, sat next to him, as real as can be.

"I don't know how you got that idea about them, or about yourself, but you mean more to this group than you realize." Her voice breached his stubborn soul and nestled within, filling him with such a sensation, it was almost unworldly. "You didn't see how they were after Andrea shot you. She's beside herself in grief... and rightfully so." She added swiftly before continuing. "And the rest of them, too. The other's care about you, Daryl. They care so much. You shouldn't ever doubt that."

Her hands, Daryl found, were no longer messing with his wounds. They were rested upon the bandaging that she had just finished changing only moment before. The old ones, marred with splotches of blood, lay forgotten to the side as her touch warmed his skin.

"Personally, I think it's amazing how you've put so much effort into searching for Sophia. I know that I'm still new to this group and hardly know anyone, but from what I've gathered, Rick only goes to look out of some deep-seated guilt. You, however, have no ulterior motive. At least none I've seen or heard about. You seem to do it strictly out of compassion, and that is something I haven't seen in months, and it's something I find fascinating... in a good way." She tilted her head to the side as she considered him for a brief moment. "Honestly. I think more people should be like you."

Daryl's neck strained as he turned his head to stare at her, her soft hands still resting delicately against his side. Merle's brash words seemed to fade into oblivion under her intent gaze and caring words.

"Huh. Ain't you perceptive."

"I'll give my major in Psychology credit for that bit of insight." She shot him a coy grin.

"So... you really think that 'bout them? 'bout me?"

"Yeah... yeah, I do."

Daryl huffed. "Y'know, what you said earlier, about me soundin' like you're damn brother?" Daryl didn't wait for an answer as he continued, "Well, you don't sound _nothin'_ like mine."

She beamed down at him, her smile illuminating brighter than the lamp's murky rays.

"Is that a good or bad thing?"

"It's good."

"Well... good!"

Harlow's smile brightened as she straightened up, removing her hands from him while fingers grazed old wounds, either by accident or curiosity. At that moment he didn't give a damn.

"And with that, we're all done!" She grabbed for the old bandaging and gauze and heaved herself off of the bed. She chucked them into a nearby trashcan before loading her supplies within her narrow arms. "I'll let you get some sleep. God knows you need it after today."

"I ain't tired." In truth, Daryl was a bit sad to see her go. She brought a calm comfort with her, and he feared that the feeling would leave upon her exit.

"Well, if you can't sleep, you should try eating that." She jerked her blonde head towards the nightstand, where the long forgotten food sat, still untouched.

"Shit. Yeah, guess I should." Daryl rolled onto his back and rested a hand on his abdomen with a heavy sigh.

"Well, have a good night, Daryl."

"Yeah. See you 'round."

Harlow left the room without another word, leaving Daryl to muse over her words, and felt the same alleviation of woes when she first spoke them. Maybe she was right; maybe he did mean something to this group, and perhaps, for the first time in his life, he belonged to something more meaningful than anything he had ever experienced before. With an elated feeling, he felt hunger return to him. He reached for the plate on the nightstand and began to shovel the food into his mouth, chewing loudly and drinking deeply from the cup next to him. Once dinner was consumed and dishware discarded to the side, he felt his eyelids grow heavy with fatigue as his body sunk deeper into the soft bedding. He drew the covers back over his beaten frame, the brush of fabric akin to Harlow's own gentle touch, and stared out the bedroom window with a glazed look in his eyes. He realized, before sleep overtook him, that this woman had awoken something within him, a sensation that was never felt before, and it left him feeling unnerved, if not a bit curious at the sense of self worth and pride that brewed within because of her.


	6. Rivers and Roads

**A/N: I apologize for the late update! It was my birthday on the 8th, so I was busy with birthday shenanigans and what not. The next one should not take as long to be posted. Thanks to everyone who continue to read, review, follow and what not! You guys are the best! :)  
Song recommendation is "Rivers and Roads" by The Head and the Heart.**

Rivers and Roads

Harlow was always a light sleeper, yet last night was a strange exception. From the distant pacing of group members on watch in the evening to the clatter of pots and pans in the early morning, she slept through it all with ease. It was a gentle prodding against her arm that finally drove her from her unconscious state. Tangled in the musky bedroll, the near quiet sound of breathing drew her eyelids open, and the sight of an unknown boy hovering over her made her recoil in shock.

"Holy fuck!" Harlow gasped as the young adolescent mimicked her, scrambling back several feet.

"I'm sorry - I... I-" The child stammered as he jumped to his feet, eyes widened in shock.

"It's fine." Harlow attempted to shake away the lingering shock as she sat upright, feeling her nerves calm back to a normal state. "Chill out, you just scared me... what the hell were you doing, anyways?"

"I don't know... I didn't recognize you." The kid murmured. "Who are you?"

"I'm Harlow." The girl rubbed the back of her neck as she eyed the boy with a curious gaze, noting his physical appearance. "You must be Carl."

"How do you know that?"

"You look just like your parents, for starters." He looked to be a miniature version of Rick and Lori, with bright blue eyes like his father and dark tufts of hair like his mother. A cowboy-style Sheriff's hat sat perched on top of his head, and prominent freckles that rivaled Harlow's were swept across his button nose.

"Yeah, I get that a lot." Carl said with a jerking nod of his head, his hat bobbing precariously about. Harlow snorted under her breath; she was never fond of kids, and was swiftly reminded of this as Carl stared expectantly at her, as if waiting for her to perform a trick of sorts.

"Nice hat, Barney Fife. Gonna go wrangle up some bad guys?"

"It was my dad's. He gave it to me." Carl reached a hand up and adjusted the hat by the brim. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"Huh. Yeah..." Harlow unlaced her boots and attempted to throw them on in a rushed frenzy. "So, they finally cut you loose from the house?" She finally spoke after an awkward moment of silence.

"Yeah, they did." Carl nodded his head. "I got shot. Don't know if you heard."

"Oh, I heard." Harlow uttered under her breath. She shoved a foot into one of the boots and tightened the lacing on it. "I take it you're feeling better?"

"I am."

"That's good. Gotta be tough to survive something like that."

"I sure am!" Carl tugged at the waist of his jeans, an air of youthful smugness about. "So, what are you doing here?"

"Well, I was all by myself out there and in need of help before I met Daryl. If it wasn't for him, Hershel, your dad, and his group, I'd probably be dead."

"They saved you?"

"You betcha."

"So... you're staying with us, then?"

"I guess so, yeah." Harlow thought it over several times, even before Carl asked that very question, whether or not she truly wanted to stay or leave. She felt strange, almost foreign, among this new group of people, yet at the same time she felt safe and welcome in their company.

"Probably best if you do, if you want to stay alive, at least."

Harlow froze in the middle of cinching the laces of her other boot around her ankle. "Well... that's one way to look at it."

At that moment the sound of Lori calling for Carl drew them from their conversation.

"Over here, mom!" Carl raised his voice as the rangy woman appeared, gripping her son by the shoulder. Harlow silently rejoiced as she finished tying her boots.

"Already causing trouble, I see." Lori teased as she gave him a gentle squeeze.

"I was just talking to Harlow." Carl gestured to the girl as she hoisted herself up and onto her feet.

"Quite the trouble-maker you've got there." Harlow muttered in a sarcastic manner.

"C'mere, you," She let go of her son's arm as she jerked her head to the side, "Chickens aren't gonna feed themselves."

Lori gave Harlow a small grin as she began to walk away with Carl in close pursuit. The boy glanced back and gave her a quick wave, which she returned with a chuckle and shake of her head.

* * *

"Good morning, sunshine."

Harlow's blonde head poked through the opening of the tent that Daryl was currently holed up in, spotting his familiar frame lying in a mangy looking cot with a book in his clutches. He jumped at the sudden noise of her arrival, yet reclined back into a comfortable looking slump as he rested the book against his chest.

"Oh, great, it's you." Daryl grumbled in his usual surley voice. "Can't get a moment's peace 'round here, can I?"

"Cram it, Dixon. I won't let you off the hook that easily." Harlow shot back as she stepped within the threshold of his tent, finally clad in her own jeans and billowy shirt, now clean (or as clean as they were going to get). Her comment brought an amused huff from the man as he watched her with an intent stare. "I see they kicked you out of the house. How're you feeling?"

"Better, I s'pose." Daryl shrugged a shoulder. "Whaddya want?"

"Thought you might want something to eat." Harlow spoke before producing a fresh, ripe peach from behind her back, tossing it his way after calling out, "Here, catch."

Daryl caught it with ease and wasted no time sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of the fruit, giving a low grunt of approval.

"Glenn was passing a whole basket of them around, figured you might want in on some of the action." Harlow hesitated, casting a cautious glance behind her shoulder before turning back to Daryl, whose chin was now glazed with peach juice. "Also, I thought you might want this back..."

Daryl stopped mid-chew as Harlow held out a long loop of string, dangling at the base were four walker ears, a trophy from his kills the previous day.

"Oh, damn," Daryl spoke, clearly shocked, "Was wonderin' what happened to that." He raised a free hand and motioned for her to fork it over.

"Uhh... while you're eating?" Harlow scrunched her nose as the dismembered ears exuded a reeking stench, one that was not so easy to ignore. She had kept it hidden underneath her sleeping bag, wrapped in various items in an attempt to keep the hideous smell from her senses. She contimplated chucking it, yet figured it was Daryl's to do what he wanted.

"Jus' give it 'ere." Daryl's barked with a mouthful of food, his words garbled as bits of fruit spewed from his mouth.

"Fine, take it, you sick son of a bitch." Harlow snapped with an air of sarcasm as she leaned towards him. "To be honest, I would have kept it myself, but it didn't match with any of my outfits."

"More my style, anyways." Daryl spoke after gulping the fruit down, grasping the makeshift necklace and tearing it away from her clenched hand.  
"If anyone could pull that look off, it'd be you." She said while nodding towards dismembered ears, wiping her hands against her jeans. "But in all honesty, why'd you bring those back?"

"What, these?" Daryl inquired as he tossed the ears onto the ground next to his cot. "Got them assholes before they got me. Figure I'd take a souvenir while I had the chance."

"Fair enough," Harlow murmured under her breath. "Need anything else before I pop out for a bit?"

"Nah, I'm good." Daryl paused as he eyed her with scrutiny. "Where're you off to?"

"I figure I'd go look for Sophia while the others go off for gun training."

"That so?" Daryl narrowed his eyes. "No one else concerned with findin' that girl? They'd rather go off wastin' bullets we don't have?" He proceeded to fling his book and half-eaten peach to the side and hoist himself into a seated position, grunting in agony as he flinched towards his bandaged side.

"Hey hey, what do you think you're doing?" Harlow advanced forward, holding her hand out as if that would be enough to stop him from stumbling out of bed.

"What's it look like? Gettin' outta here and helpin' you myself."

"Yeah, that's not going to happen." Harlow looked at him with an amused expression.

"And why not?" Daryl inquired in a surly manner.

"Because of your goddamn injuries, that's why." Harlow snapped. "You're no use to anyone with those wounds, and you running off with me isn't helpful, it's fucking stupid. I give you ten minutes out there at most before I have to haul your ass back to camp."

"I ain't lettin' you run off by yerself-"

"Well tough shit, Dixon." She could almost visualize smoke pouring out of ears with the scorching look he gave her at that moment. "Stay here and stop your whining. I'll be fine. I'm more concerned with that little girl out there."

His narrowed gaze relaxed a considerable amount. "Fine, you stubborn ass."

"You're one to talk. I'll be back later, then... unless I fall into a creek like someone else we know." She gave him a crooked smirk before turning around, making for the exit.

"Hold up." Daryl called out, causing Harlow to halt in her tracks. He seemed to struggle internally with his next set of words before blurting out, "Jus' be safe."

"We'll see." She shot him a coy grin before ducking under the opening to the tent and setting off without another word.

Harlow thought fleetingly about how eerie the vacant campsite looked as she made her way towards the Winnebago, disappearing inside, and emerging moments later with her gun and a rolled up map in tow. With most of the group gone, Glenn was left standing atop the R.V., keeping watch.

"Hey Glenn," Harlow called out, catching the attention of the lanky figure as he turned towards her. "Do you mind keeping watch for a bit longer?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." Glenn spoke in a timid manner, watching as she thumbed with the safety on her Beretta. "What's up?"

"Nothing... I was just going to go out for a bit, look for Sophia." Harlow said truthfully.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Glenn shot her an uneasy grimace. "Rick doesn't want us going out alone."

"Yeah, well, Rick doesn't have to know, does he?" Harlow smirked in his direction as she stuffed the gun within her shoulder holster. "I shouldn't be gone long, anyways."

"Great, more secrets." Glenn murmured, his voice barely audible as he darted his gaze from her to the barn.

"What was that?"

"N-nothing, just be careful out there." Glenn stammered furtively as he fumbled with a pair of binoculars.

"You'll know something's up if I come back with severed body parts around my neck." Harlow quipped before taking off for the dense wall of trees.

* * *

"Thanks again for comin'." Rick called out to Harlow over the roaring engine of the 1979 Jeep Cherokee as they sped down the vacant backroads Harlow's petite frame was slumped in the passenger seat with an elbow propped against the worn door, gazing out of the dusty glass as the scenery blurred past. A rush of wind poured through the cracked window and disturbed her blonde tendrils, yet brought little relief from the near suffocating heat within the vehicle.

"Don't mention it." Harlow's voice barely breached the sounds that vibrated throughout the cab as she raised her hands to mess with her untamed hair. She had agreed to accompany Rick back to the highway while Shane and Andrea checked out a possible lead on Sophia's whereabouts. "So you think she could have come back to the highway?"

"Possibly, it's where I told her to go before..." His voice trailed off as he squinted through the bright afternoon sun. A brief, uncomfortable moment passed before he continued, "Anyways, we have a station set up in case she makes her way back and we're not there. We check up on it every day, just to make sure."

"Of course." Harlow said as she gathered her hair into a tousled ponytail, securing it with an elastic band.

"Listen, Harlow," Rick began, speaking in a careful manner, "I heard what you did today, going off to look for her while the rest of us were gone."

Harlow bit down on her lower lip as she eyed the landscape from the confines of the sweltering vehicle. "Did Glenn tell you?"

"Doesn't matter who told me." Rick firmly averted her question.

"Fair enough." Harlow let out a low sigh. "Is this the part where you scold me for wandering off alone?" She braced herself for what Rick would say next, yet was mildly surprised to hear a small chuckle from the driver's seat.

"I think you're too old for a lecture, if we're being honest."

Harlow glanced towards Rick, who stared intently at the road ahead as he spoke again. "I was actually gonna thank you for doing that. It means a lot to Carol, and the rest of us."

"No need to thank me. Daryl wanted to come with, and I would have let him, but he's pretty banged up. I had to talk him into staying behind, or else he would have gotten himself hurt even more. I really didn't want that to happen... even if he is a bull-headed jackass."

Rick shot her a sideways grin. "Yeah, that sounds like Daryl."

She turned away from him in an attempt to hide a sudden look of discouragement. "I didn't find her, though. I didn't find a single damn thing out there."

"I don't think you would have. We've combed through that area countless times."

"Yeah, I know... I guess I was just thinking that maybe I could find something the others overlooked. Or maybe she would have wandered closer to the farm. I doubt she would stay in one place. At least not for long."

"Y'know," Rick began, turning back to the road before them, "it's strange to think that you, an outsider, would put so much effort into helping search for that little girl, without a single thought for yourself, but maybe you aren't as much of an outsider as we've thought. I know I was hesitant in letting you stay at first, but I was wrong. I think you _do_ belong here. With us."

Harlow glanced back towards Rick, unable to hide the smile that broke through her crestfallen features. His words reaffirmed her willingness to stay with this group, with people she could see herself forming a deep affinity for.

"Wow, I was _not_ expecting that reaction." Harlow said in mild disbelief.

"Although," Rick began, shooting her a sideways glance, "from now on, I would feel more comfortable with you not going out there alone."

"You got it, boss."

The Cherokee lurched to a near halt as the highway came into full view. Harlow, who was consumed with the scenery to her right and the conversation between the two, failed to notice the sight that loomed ever closer. A large traffic snare lay before them, a deserted wasteland of vehicles and bodies of those who failed to make it out alive.

"Holy _shit_," Harlow murmured, "That's one hell of a traffic jam."

The tires crunched beneath them as Rick brought the vehicle to a stop. He gripped the handle of the door and pushed it open, heaving himself out of the confines of the driver's seat. "We'll walk from here."

Harlow followed in close pursuit, leaving the passenger side door wide open. They collectively weaved through the abandoned vehicles as they stepped through the pile up with a painfully slow pace. Minutes passed, and Harlow silently wondered how much farther they had to go. Rick, as if on cue, spoke through the quiet calm. "Just a bit more."

The pair continued onward until the backside of a muted yellow car came into view. A quiet rustling came from the front, which stopped the advancing pair as they collectively turned towards each other. Rick held up a hand, stopping Harlow as she opened her mouth to speak, before he took off, hastened in step. Hope sprung within Harlow, spurring her to follow the man as the vehicle loomed ever closer, until they were face-to-face with the front of the car.

The ripple of noise came from a small flock of birds, perched precariously on the hood of the vehicle, perhaps there to inspect the makeshift station set up for Sophia. Rick and Harlow's sudden appearance forced the animals to take flight, the audible fluttering of wings made them reel back in surprise as they watched the birds climb higher into the clear blue sky. Harlow fleetingly found their movements beautiful, life springing from a wasteland of death and destruction, yet that realization was swiftly replaced with the dreadful thought of the lost Sophia, who was no where in sight.

"Goddamn birds..."

The provisions that were placed in a loving pile on the hood went untouched, and Harlow felt her heart sink into the pit of her stomach as she took in the sight before her. Her gaze traced the white lettering that was painted onto the windshield as she breathed the written words, "_Sophia, stay here... we will come every day..._"

Out of her peripherals, Rick took his frustration out on a nearby van, driving his fist into the hard exterior. The sound it created seemed deafening in comparison to the silence that now shrouded them.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take..." Rick croaked out. Harlow didn't bother turning to face the man; she couldn't stand to see the visage of disappointment that radiated from him. Harlow bowed her head in a pitiful attempt to hide an anguished grimace. She searched for words of comfort, yet none could be found. Silence ensued for the entire duration of their stay, perhaps hoping that she would miraculously wander up, or prolonging the dread of having to tell Carol, once again, that her daughter was no where to be found.

"Let's head back." Rick said finally, and the two of them set off without another word.

* * *

Harlow found herself wandering aimlessly around the safe haven of the farm, moving without a clear sense of purpose. Upon returning, she took the initiative to tell Carol of their failed trip to the highway. The mother put on a brave face for her, yet a glimmer of sadness resonated through weary eyes, one that was hard to ignore. After hearing the news from Harlow and exchanging brief words with her, Carol turned and made her way back to the R.V., leaving Harlow to stand in solitude, hollow and mentally crippled. As she stepped through the lush grass and pivoted around the grove of tents, she pondered how the others managed to go about their day with the fate of Sophia hanging over their heads. In the short time she spent with this group she found the desire to find Sophia almost unbearable, consuming her like a plague.

Harlow soon found something that would take her mind off the lost girl as she stepped closer to the gravel road that ran between the house and vacant fields.

She nearly disregarded the hushed exchange between two members of the group, yet as their words breached her troubled mind, she found her curiosity reach its peak as she ducked behind a grand sized tent, bending her knees as she crouched low to the ground.

"What, you tellin' me to _leave_?" Shane's voice came first with an air of amusement.

"I know you've been planning to... maybe _now_ is a good time." Dale's words followed, much more forceful than anything she was used to from the older man.

Shane snorted as he gave a sharp retort, "This about Andrea?"

"I'm looking out for the group-"

"Y'think the group would be better off without me, Dale? Why don't you tell that to Rick or Lori? Their boy would be _dead_ if I hadn't put my ass on the line."

"And Otis's." A sickening silence ensued before Dale continued, "You've been vague about that night, about what happened."

"Otis died a hero-"

"So you've _said_." Dale interrupted. Harlow pressed her hands against the flimsy material of the canvas and leaned forward.

"A little boy lived because of what went down that night. I think you ought to show some _gratitude_."

"I wasn't there."

"No, man, you weren't." Shane spat.

"But I was the time that you raised your gun on Rick. You had him in your sights... and you held him there. I _know_ what kind of man you are."

Harlow chanced a glance from behind the tent with bated breath, catching a glimpse of Shane's demeanor as he stared down the old man, exuding a rage that sent chills down her spine.

"You think I'd shoot Rick...? That is my best friend. That's the man that I love - I love him like he's my brother... you think that's the kind of man I am?"

"That's right." Dale breathed.

"Well, maybe we ought to jus' think that through." Shane began, his face inches away from Dale's. "Say I'm the kind of man who'd gun down his own best friend. What do you think I'd do to some guy that I don't even _like_ when he starts throwing accusations my way? What do you think?"

Harlow felt her muscles tense as Shane stormed off, leaving Dale to fume in visible anger. Unable to stop herself, she regained movement in her limbs and swiftly rose to her feet, stepping out of the shadows and facing the backside of the enraged man. The ground crunched beneath her, and Dale spun around at the sudden noise, finally noticing her. He seemed surprised at her presence, yet nothing could match her look of utter shock at what she had just witnessed.

"What... what the _hell_ was that all about?!" Harlow choked out, fidgeting in place.

"You weren't supposed to hear that." Dale, still flustered from the heated exchange, advanced towards Harlow. She took a step back as he reached a hand out, shaking her head furiously.

"Shane... did Shane...?"

Harlow stared, mouth agape, for a moment that felt like an eternity. Dale opened his mouth to speak, yet a distant voice called for him, squelching whatever words he had to say. He swore under his breath before turning back to Harlow.

"We'll talk about this later." Dale hissed under his breath. "Until then, don't say anything about it to anyone, all right?"

"But what abou-"

"_All right?!_" Dale repeated, this time with pressing urgency.

"Yeah... sure, okay." Harlow stammered. Dale gave her a swift jerk of his head before taking off, making his way back towards the source of noise, leaving her to stand in a whirlwind of bewilderment and disorientation at what she had just witnessed.

* * *

**A/N: Next one is going to be a doozy!**


	7. My Scarlet Purpose - Part 1

**A/N: I've decided to break this chapter into two parts, since it was getting ridiculously long! I'm adding the last bits to it now, and it should be out much sooner than usual!  
Song recommendation: "My Scarlet Purpose" by the Murdocks. If it wasn't for Pandora I would have never discovered this artist! :)**

**As always, thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, followed, and what not. And thanks for those who continue to do so! You are all the best! :)**

* * *

_"'Come, little girl, to a place I know  
Down by the swimming hole.  
I would shed my skin in your warm embrace,  
And I would never be.  
'Cause people go, and people change,  
I know it's strange, I could never be your enemy."_

My Scarlet Purpose

The moon reigned over the sun as night crept upon the cozy campsite. While the others huddled around the now dying embers of the fire, Harlow and Dale sat farther off from the others, speaking in hushed, secretive tones. This was due to an incident only hours before, where Harlow happened across a heated discussion between Dale and Shane. The banter between the two men revealed a darker side of Shane, unbeknownst to him that Harlow had witnessed enough of the conversation to make her own assessments.

"I don't know what all you heard earlier," Dale began, gazing imploringly at the blonde woman next to her, "but you _can not_ tell anyone about any of it."

Harlow furrowed her brows as she rested her elbows against bent knees. "You're joking. Why not?!"

Dale shot a careful glance towards the group behind him; many of them were finishing up with dinner and preparing for bed.

"Think about what that would do to the group. We can't afford to become divided... with Sophia missing, Carl, Daryl and T-Dog on the mend, Lori's pre-" Dale stopped short, looking flustered before clearing his throat and carrying on. "It's just not a good idea to put us at odds with each other, which will most likely happen if you say anything."

"Yeah... I guess." Harlow muttered under her breath as she ran a hand through her tousled locks. "But what about Shane? I mean Jesus Christ, he pretty much threatened you. And he nearly shot Rick. Why would he do something like that, let alone even think about it?"

"I... uh, have a hunch."

"Are you going to elaborate, or just leave it at that?"

Dale seemed to struggle for an answer to her inquiry, rubbing the tips of his fingers against his bearded chin. "If I say... it absolutely can not leave this conversation."

"Oh Christ, more secrets?" Harlow snorted under her breath. "Of course I won't tell anyone... I mean, it sucks that I can't say _anything_, but I really don't wanna risk getting voted off the island for running my mouth."

Dale let out a low sigh. "Shane and Lori... when they thought Rick was dead, they... had an affair..."

"_No fucking way_." Harlow blurted out, loud enough for Dale to give her a sharp shush before she continued in a quieter tone. "I mean, c'mon, _him_?! The guy is a ticking time bomb!"

"He wasn't always like this," Dale explained. "This world changes people, and it changed him. I don't think Lori could see that, or the rest of the group, for that matter. I had a hunch... but the only clear evidence is what you and I witnessed earlier today."

"And Otis," Harlow pressed onward, "You think Shane sacrificed Otis for his own survival?"

Dale mulled his response over before forcing a nod, "That's right."

Harlow eyed the older man intently for a moment before inquiring, "Is there anything else I should know?"

Dale shook his head, perhaps a bit too eagerly. "No, nothing."

Harlow swore under her breath. "This is some heavy shit, Dale. On top of those dead things out there, we have to worry about the living, too? People we're supposed to trust?"

"Seems like it." Dale shook his head in disgust at the very thought. "Welcome to the new world."

Harlow was beside herself in a mixture of shock and anger. She felt a strong kinship with the group for the first time since her bitter parting with her brother, yet since stumbling across Dale and Shane's intense conversation earlier, she felt that she was a bit hasty in thinking that way, to grow attached to the others in such a short amount of time.

"I thought I would be over this shit after Terry," Harlow mused aloud as she rose to her feet. "I guess I was wrong."

"Wait - where are you going?" Dale frowned as Harlow brushed her jeans with the back of her hands.

"I need some time to myself... don't worry, I won't say anything." Harlow deadpanned. "You can trust _me_, at least."

She trudged off without another word, towards the barren landscape surrounding the campsite. A few members caught sight of her, one of them being Shane. There was something in his harsh gaze that left a nasty twinge in her gut, yet she returned his acrid look with one of her one as she pressed onward.

She came across a lush patch of grass, far away from the others, and carefully took a seat on the ground below. The earth felt hard beneath as she leaned back, lying supine with iron hued eyes turned upwards towards the sky above. The crystalline shards of stars hung suspended over her vulnerable frame, shrouding her in a dim glow. She let out a slow huff of breath in an attempt to clear her turbulent thoughts, yet failed miserably as they endured.

It was the gentle thumping of footsteps that finally drove her from her musings. She jolted into a seated position, whipping her head towards the sound, and sighed in relief as she gazed upon the source of noise.

"Jesus, Daryl, you scared me."

The surly southerner stopped in his tracks, staring down at her with an unreadable expression.

"Yer one to talk. Thought somethin' was wrong, seein' you layin' around like that. The hell you doin' out here, anyways?" He shot their surroundings a wary glare, as if expecting a horde of walkers to jump out and attack.

"I just want a moment to myself. That's all." Harlow murmured as she reclined back onto the ground, resting her head against the soft bed of grass. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Daryl's well-built frame move to her side, collapsing in a heap next to her. She furrowed her brows and turned her head towards him, now lying flat on his back with one hand resting behind his head and the other across his abdomen.

"What part of 'moment to myself' did you not understand?" Harlow piped up.

"Think of it as payback for all the times you barged in when I wanted t'be alone." His voice was coarse against the still night air, bringing a strained chuckle from the girl.

"I guess I deserve it, then."

"Yeah, you do." Daryl nestled deeper into the thick tufts of turf. "Anything you wanna talk about?"

"What do you mean?" Harlow snapped, her words guided by a guilty conscious.

"Easy, woman." Daryl growled. "Jus' seems strange to see you out here by yer lonesome. Somethin' the matter?"

"You don't have to do this, Dixon." Harlow said, tilting her head to stare at the man next to her.

"Ain't no trouble," Daryl grunted out. "Besides, you've done a helluva lot for me and the others, least I can do is lend an ear."

"That's very sweet of you," Harlow said in mild disbelief. "I think I'm good, though." In truth, she ached to tell him of the events that transpired that very day, to unload her burdens on another. Yet she remembered her promise to Dale, and grudgingly repeated, "I'm good."

"Fair 'nuff." Daryl said gruffly as he gave her a sharp nod. "Don't mean I'm leavin' anytime soon, though."

"Well, good." She shot a gentle smirk in his direction. "I'd hate to see you give up that easily."

"Huh?" Daryl knitted his brows, "What about wantin' yer space?"

She gave him a half-hearted shrug. "I changed my mind."

Daryl gave her an acrid glare as he snorted loudly. "Damn, woman, make up yer mind."

Harlow let out a strained chuckle as she felt her hand move involuntarily towards her belt, stroking the handle of her sheathed knife with a tender touch. "Women are known to be a fickle bunch. It should be expected."

Daryl let out a forced huff of breath before the duo settled into a reposed state. They collectively gazed at the starlit sky above, basking in the ethereal glow of the moon. Harlow felt her eyelids grow heavy as they fluttered, struggling to stay open. It was then, in her most relaxed state, that she murmured through flushed lips, "Do you think we'll find her?"

The sound of Daryl shifting his attention towards her was audible through the dense silence. "Yeah... I _know_ we'll find her."

"I hope you're right." Something about his presence, although feet away from her supine frame, left her feeling relaxed and comforted, allowing her worries to ebb away with every audible breath he took. She felt, at that moment, closer to Daryl than ever before.

* * *

The next morning, Harlow rejoined the group by the campfire, partaking in a mediocre serving of eggs and overcooked spam. The others seemed absorbed in their own thoughts, much like Harlow was as she spooned the food into her mouth. She ignored the occasional scorching glances from Shane, directing her full attention to the plate below, balanced precariously on her lap. Besides the occasional clatter of silverware, the tedious sound of Andrea scraping the blade of her knife against a metal sharpener lulled her into an almost hypnotic state. Daryl sat in a fold out chair next to her, chewing loudly, while Dale shifted uncomfortably by a nearby group of trees; if she had not been so absorbed in the dishware in front of her, she would have seen him give Glenn a sharp nod of his head while the younger man paced back and forth. She did notice, however, a shadow hover over her before glancing upwards to find Carol, skillet and spatula in hand.

"Here, have some more." She said, silently observing Harlow's now barren plate.

"I'm good, Carol, but thanks." Harlow said, shrugging off her offer.

"I won't take no for an answer." Carol said firmly as she dumped a fresh pile of eggs onto her plate. "You're skin and bone. Eat."

Harlow let out a strained chuckle. "Alright, thank you." Out of the corner of her eye she saw Daryl hold his plate out, eager for a second helping. Harlow smirked into her mug as she gulped down her instant coffee, now lukewarm, before taking another bite of the scrambled pile in front of her. Pushing her concerns to the side, she took a moment to enjoy the brief moment of peace with the rest of the group, unable to fathom anything that would disrupt the calm atmosphere. That was, until Glenn spoke up.

"Uhm... guys?" Glenn's voice quaked as everyone turned to stare expectantly at the timid man. Harlow furrowed her brows as she picked food from between her teeth, digging deep with sharp nails as she awaited Glenn's next set of words.

"So... the barn's full of walkers."

All movement ceased as everyone stared, floored at Glenn's words. Harlow felt the grip on her fork slacken as it fell to the ground with a dull thud, and Andrea instantly froze in mid swipe, the grating note of her weapon fading into oblivion.

"You're _fucking_ with us." Harlow choked out after a long moment of tense silence.

"I'm not... I wish I was, but I'm not." Glenn shuffled in place. Shane swore loudly before he tore off in the direction of the barn, everyone else following in close pursuit. Harlow vaulted after them, sending her plate flying as bits of food littered the ground below. She shot a glance behind her towards the quaint farmhouse, Maggie's distant features visible through the throbbing sunlight overhead. Harlow thought she imagined a scowl issuing from the girl's feminine features.

The barn appeared much more ominous to Harlow as the group huddled around the chained and barred entrance to the aging structure. While the others hung back warily, Harlow and Shane took the initiative to examine it closer, peering through the cracks as they gazed inside the gloomy interior. Audible moans and the stench of death seeped through the gaps as Harlow recoiled, clutching her mouth as a convulsive coughing fit doubled her over. It was a smell she would never fully get used to.

"Oh god... yeah, there's walkers in there." Harlow choked as the coughing subsided, swallowing as much clean air as she could. Shane continued to glower into the spacing of the barn door, similar to the looks Harlow received from him only moments earlier. A venomous growl issued from behind the door, inches from Shane's face, which made him turn and stomp away in visible rage.

"You can not tell me you're all right with this." Shane snarled, gripping the bill of his hat with clenched fists as he stalked past Rick.

"No I'm not," Rick began, visibly rattled, "but we're guests here. This isn't our land-"

"-This is our lives, man!" Shane's voice elevated to an alarming level as Glenn snapped, "Keep your voice down!"

"We can't just sweep this under the rug." Andrea spoke aloud as the chorus of macabre horrors issued from the cracks of the barn, growing louder with each passing second. Harlow took another step back, nearly bumping into Daryl out of blind bewilderment as she attempted to wrap her mind around the situation that unfolded before her.

"It ain't right, not remotely." T-Dog chimed in.

"Okay," Shane said, this time with a much calmer tone, "We've either gotta go in there, we've gotta make things right, or we've just gotta go." Shane shoved his hat back onto his head as he pressed onward. "Now we've been talkin' 'bout Fort Benning for a long time-"

"We can't go-" Rick hissed, holding a hand out in an attempt to reach out to the belligerent man before him.

"Why, Rick? Why?!"

"Because my daughter's still out there." Carol's meek voice broke through the argument as Harlow felt her heart sink.

"Okay..." Shane gave a forced chuckle as he cupped his hands over his mouth, breathing deeply before lowering them. "Okay, I think it's time that we all start to just... consider the _other_ possibility."

"'Other possibility'?" Harlow laughed in disbelief at his words. "Are you goddamn kidding me, Shane?"

"We're _not_ leaving Sophia behind." Rick interjected.

"I'm close to findin' this girl," Daryl blurred past Harlow as he advanced swiftly towards Shane. "I jus' found her damn doll two days ago!"

Another antagonizing laugh issued from Shane. "You found a doll, Daryl! That's what you did, you found a _doll_!"

Daryl swiped the air in front of him with a closed fist as he hollered out, "You don't know the _hell_ yer talkin' about!"

The beginnings of a major argument began to take shape as Harlow attempted to wedge herself between Daryl and Shane, holding a hand out as if that would be enough to stop the irate southerner from attacking.

"I'm just sayin' what needs to be said," Shane hollered out over the rising voices around him. "You get a good lead... it's in the first_ fourty-eight hours_, after that yer lookin' for a body..."

"Shane - stop!" Rick pleaded as he joined Harlow in keeping distance between the pair.

"Let me tell you somethin' else, man." Shane began, bobbing around Rick to get a clearer look at a seething Daryl. "If she was alive out there and saw you comin' all methed out, with your buck knife, geek ears 'round yer neck -" Shane pointed behind him for emphasis. "-she would _run_ in the _other direction_, man!"

His words struck a nerve within Daryl as the man unleashed his rage, a frightening sight for Harlow to behold as he bellowed with all his might, lunging to attack like a feral beast. Harlow turned towards the volatile man just in time, pressing her hands against his chest with every last ounce of strength as he ducked around her, thrusting his index finger towards Shane as his voice cracked from the sheer volume issuing from his vocal chords. Chaos soon enveloped her as voices rang out all around.

"I will beat yer ass, man - you don't come at me!" The magnitude of Shane's voice matched Daryl's as others fought to hold him back. Cries for them to stop mingled with the antagonizing shouts of the belligerent duo. Harlow felt her limbs shake under Daryl's weight, yet finally gained the advantage as she dug her nails into his toned chest, moving her face closer to the side of his sweltering head as she murmured into his ear, only loud enough for him to hear. "Leave it, Daryl. This asshole isn't worth it..._ leave it_!"

Her voice was like velvet against the harsh cries that encircled them. She repeated those words until Daryl began to back away, his heated words fading into oblivion as he quietly seethed. His breath was harsh against the flesh on the side of her neck as she drew away from him, yet left a hand firmly placed on his chest as she gazed imploringly at him for a moment longer before tearing herself away from him.

The noises around her simmered into a strained silence as Shane lashed out at Lori, who fought to keep him back.

"Keep yer hands off me." He hissed, thrusting a finger in her face before turning away from her.

"Now, just let me talk to Hershel." Rick called out, keeping a hand outstretched towards Shane as he prepared to storm off. "Let me figure it out-"

Shane then turned on Rick, stomping towards him as he cried out, "What're you gonna_ figure out_?!"

Lori, disregarding Shane's previous orders, shoved a hand into his chest and shouted, "Enough!"

"If we're gonna stay, if we're gonna clear this barn, I have to talk him into it. This is his land!" Rick said firmly.

Dale, who kept silent up until then, decided to interject. "Hershel sees those things in there as people - sick people. His wife, his... his stepson-"

"You _knew_?!" Rick spat in disbelief. Harlow turned her attention to Dale, gritting her teeth together as he fessed up, feeling anger well up within.

"Yesterday... I talked to Hershel."

"And you waited the night?" Shane rounded on the older man. Harlow, remembering the conversation between the two less than a day ago, stepped involuntarily towards Dale.

"I thought we could survive one more night. We _did_." Dale snapped at Shane, the look on the older man's face sent shivers down her spine. "I was waiting till this morning to say something, but Glenn wanted to be the one."

"The man is crazy, Rick," Shane growled. "If Hershel thinks those things are alive_ OR NO_-"

In the flurry of the moment, everyone, including Harlow, disregarded the haunting sounds issuing from the interior of the barn. The trapped creatures, drawn to the noise like moths to a flame, crashed against the barred entrance, the structure creaking under the weight of the undead monsters within. The group snapped out of their venomous daze as they collectively backed away from the nefarious sight before them.

"How about we continue this conversation out of chomping range?" Harlow's voice rang out over the rasping noises.

"You guys head back... I'll be there in a bit." Shane grumbled as the others began making the long trek back to camp. Harlow stood, rooted to the ground, unable to tear her gaze away from him.

"What, Harlow," Shane spoke gruffly. "If y'got somethin' to say, then _say it_."

She silently wondered if he knew exactly what she was thinking at that moment. She could confront him, right then, without anyone else having to know. She could tell him _exactly_ what she thought of him, of what kind of man he _really_ was.

Those thoughts were suppressed, however, as Dale hovered several feet away, calling out her name.

"Harlow... come on."

She narrowed her gaze before tearing away, storming off after Dale as the two of them trudged back to camp.

"What were you doing back there-" Dale's words were cut short as Harlow immediately snapped.

"So you didn't think to tell me about the goddamn _walkers_ in the barn, Dale?" She spoke through gritted teeth, balling her fists until the knuckles turned a pale shade of white. "You think that might have been _important_?"

"What did I just say back there?" Dale gave a quick retort. "No one else knew about them-"

"We talked last night, you didn't think that would have been vital information to pass on?!"

"I told you way more than I should have," Dale defended himself. "Information no one else knows."

"I think I could have done without the 'Soap Opera Digest' bullshit you threw at me. Goddamn _walkers_ in our backyard is a bit more urgent news than who was fucking who-"

"Stop!" Dale spat, stopping in his tracks as he gave the girl a scolding look. "Just _stop_, all right?! What would you have done if I told you about the walkers? Really think about it. Either you would have caused a scene, creating unnecessary panic, or you would have kept quiet until someone else broke the news, which, like I said, I wanted Glenn to do. I didn't keep it from you out of spite, or some deep-seated mistrust. I like you, Harlow. I think you're a bright girl with a good head on your shoulders, and I _can not_ take this sort of treatment from you. I _refuse_ to."

Harlow's glare seemed to dissolve into a look of reverence, his words shattering whatever petty grudge she held towards the man.

"I'm sorry, Dale." She said meekly.

"It's all right," Dale waved her apology off as he trudged onward, Harlow following closely behind. "It's been one hell of a stressful day - and it isn't even noon, yet."

* * *

The majority of the group settled into their normal routine as they day wore on. Harlow, on the other hand, stood rigid by the Jeep Cherokee, leaning against the scalding exterior of the vehicle as she stared at the distant barn with a stony expression. She was torn between the two views on how to handle the impending doom of the caged monsters. It was folly to think they could merely ignore the issue, aware of the horrible outcome if the mobile cadavers happened to break free from their makeshift prison. However, the thought of handling the situation themselves brought fear that Hershel would take action and throw the group to the curb, away from this safe haven to fend for themselves in this nightmare of a world they now lived in.

Harlow involuntarily raised a hand and fidgeted with tendrils of blonde hair before settling on a messy side-braid, fastening the locks with an elastic band.

"Are you worried about the barn?"

Harlow, who was lost in her own thoughts, failed to notice the presence of Carl until he was standing next to her, staring intently at the fair-haired woman. She jumped wildly in shock, swearing loudly.

"_Jesus_, Carl!" She exclaimed, clutching the fabric of her shirt over her chest. "You have a knack for sneaking up on people!"

"It's not _my_ fault you weren't paying attention." The kid piped up.

"Touche," Harlow let out a strained huff of laughter, floored by his brash words, if not a bit impressed.

"Are you worried?" He repeated, visibly anxious for an answer to his question.

"Well, yeah." Harlow stammered, rubbing the back of her neck. "Aren't you?"

Carl shrugged as he shuffled a foot against the dirt covered ground below. "I don't know... I guess. The barn seems secure, though. And I really don't want to leave."

"I don't think any of us want to leave, kid." Harlow stuffed her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. "Hell, knowing what's out there, I'd be willing to do whatever it takes to stay..."

"I know it's safer here... but that's not why I want to stay." Carl murmured as a gust of wind nearly carried his words off. Harlow frowned as realization dawned upon her delicate features.

"Is this about Sophia?"

Carl settled for a silent nod of his head, casting his gaze to the earth below.

"Were you and her close?"

"Yeah... she was my friend." Carl's small voice quivered as he fought to suppress his emotions. "And I know she still has to be alive, somewhere out there. We can't just give up on her."

"No _shit_, we can't." Harlow crudely agreed as she knelt to meet Carl's gaze. In the depths of his blue eyes, she found her final decision on whether she wanted the group to stay or go. "And we won't. Fuck what anyone else says, we _will_ stay, and we _will_ find her."

Carl gave her a determined nod of his head, a flash adulthood sweeping over his youthful features before Harlow straightened back up, giving his shoulder a firm pat. Maybe this kid wasn't so bad after all, she thought to herself.

In the distance, Harlow caught a glimpse of Dale as he approached the duo with a look of deep secrecy.

"Now, go find your mom." Harlow stated firmly before releasing the child from her clutches, which he obeyed almost instantly, darting off and out of view.

Harlow noticed, as Dale drew closer, that his trademark hat was missing from atop his head, and the duffel bag of guns was held firmly at his side. Curiosity peaked, she tore herself away from the side of the Cherokee and met him halfway, stopping mere feet away from the older man.

"What're you doing with those?" Harlow questioned, jerking her head towards the navy hued bag.

"I can't say." Dale said evasively. "I just need you to stay here and keep an eye on things while I go off."

"Uhh... with all of our guns?" Harlow folded her arms firmly in front of her chest, eyeing the man with scrutiny.

"Listen," Dale let out a deep sigh. "You saw how Shane was, back at the barn. He's not in his right mind... and I don't want him to have access to the guns."

"Okay..." Harlow drew her words out, riddled with skepticism. "Can I at least have mine?"

Dale considered her request with pursed lips before giving her a sharp nod, struggling to hold the bag out for her. Unzipping it, Harlow reached in and fished around for her Beretta.

"I can't say I agree with this," Harlow murmured as she finally retrieved the familiar weapon, immediately tucking it in the waist of the back of her jeans, pulling the hem of her shirt over the black handle to hide it from view.

"You don't have to agree, you just have to keep quiet about it." Dale pleaded as he zipped the bag back up and threw the straps over his shoulder, groaning under the weight of the weapons within. "Especially if Shane asks. You never saw me." Without waiting for a reply, Dale took off in the direction of the dense line of trees, leaving Harlow standing, mouth agape and slightly agitated.

"This day fucking _sucks, _man." Harlow grumbled to no one in particular.

* * *

**A/N: So what do _you_ think is going to happen next? Let me know! :)**


	8. My Scarlet Purpose - Part 2

_"To a little girl with a broken heart:_  
_I said you are gonna mean a lot to me._  
_She said, "I'd never love you but I like the way_  
_That you want to be around me."_

_And people go, And people change,_  
_I know its strange, I could never be a memory."_

My Scarlet Purpose: Part 2

Harlow's bad mood waned into a languid state as she sat atop the Winnebago, helping Glenn keep watch over the vast landscape before them. She was supposed to help Rick and Andrea search for Sophia, yet Hershel swooped in and asked for Rick to accompany him and Jimmy in regards to some unknown task. Now, she was left to wait for the Sheriff's Deputy to return so they could all go searching together, rendering the girl completely useless in the meantime. She took this moment to collect her thoughts, the only thing keeping her level headed and sane in this unraveling mess of a day.

"Where do you think they went off to?" Glenn inquired from behind, pacing back and forth as he adjusted Dale's bucket hat, lopsided atop his jet black hair.

"Not sure," Harlow answered truthfully, allowing her feet to dangle limply from the edge of the rooftop. "Hell, I'm not sure if I even _want_ to know."

"Heh, good point." Glenn replied with an airy laugh.

"So..." Harlow mulled her words over before continuing, "How'd you find out about the walkers in the barn?" It was a question that tugged at the back of her mind ever since the discovery. After all, the others had no clue, let alone Harlow. Why him?

Glenn moved towards the girl, taking a careful seat next to her while clutching Dale's rifle. "Do you want the short or long story?"

She shot him a sideways grin. "We've got time. Let's go with the long story."

"_Dang_. Alright, fine..." Glenn let out a sigh as he grudgingly began to explain the events that led up to the horrible reveal. It all started when Glenn and Maggie went out for a pharmacy run, which quickly morphed into a sexual encounter between the two. Maggie seemed distant post-coital, to Glenn's dismay, but was soon relieved when Maggie showed interest in "having another go". Glenn suggested in a written note that they meet up in the barn, yet before Maggie could stop him, he had discovered what the family had locked away in the worn structure.

"So Dale found out from you?" Harlow appeared unfazed at the revelation of Glenn and Maggie's relationship, and in truth, she found it trivial to the more pressing matters, albeit a bit comical.

"Yeah..." Glenn's words trailed off before blurting out, "I'm _really_ bad at keeping secrets, you know."

Harlow let out a low chuckle. "Secrets have to come out sometime, can't keep them locked away forever." She said while ignoring the very secret she had stored within in regards to Shane.

"I know. I hope it doesn't get us kicked out, but to be honest, I'm glad I told everyone..." His voice trailed off as he directed his attention to the farmhouse behind them. Harlow noticed his line of sight, which brought a grin to her weary features.

"So... you and Maggie, huh?" Harlow's grin broadened as she continued to study the lanky man, nudging his arm with a bony elbow. "Isn't that fucking cute!" Internally, her mind screamed out, "_Am I the only one not getting laid around here_?!"

Glenn snapped his gaze back towards Harlow's amused expression, appearing sheepish as he rubbed the section of flesh that Harlow touched. "I honestly don't know what's going on between us. She's pretty angry that I told the others... even cracked an _egg_ over my head."

Harlow jerked a thumb towards the bucket hat, unable to ignore the humorous sight before her. "Is that why you've got Dale's hat? Pretty snazzy, if you ask me."

"Thanks," Glenn suppressed a sarcastic chuckle. "To be honest, I was worried she'd do a lot worse."

"Well, count your lucky stars that a smashed egg was the worst punishment she could come up with." Harlow reasoned.

"True... still doesn't make it any more pleasant." Glenn grumbled under his breath. "You're a girl, so I have to ask...do you think she'll forgive me?"

"Ahh... crap, I don't know. I'm not too familiar with her, so I can't really say." Harlow chewed on the inside of her mouth. "It sounds like these things in the barn are more to them than just walkers. They've probably been shut off from the outside world for months now, but that doesn't really justify any of this." She jerked her attention back towards the barn as she pressed on, "Personally, I think it's cruel to keep them caged up like that, when they should just be put down... put the dead to rest, y'know?" Glenn gave her a reaffirming bob of his head as she went on, "Who knows, maybe Maggie will see that, if she hasn't already. I mean shit, she almost got bit by one of those things, didn't she?"

"I really don't want to think about that," Glenn mumbled, almost too quietly for Harlow to register.

"Sorry," She quickly added. "But she has to see _now_ that they aren't just sick people. You can't bring back the dead, and if they're waiting for a cure, then..." Her voice trailed off, words forgotten, as she spotted a familiar figure darting across the tranquil property. Daryl Dixon stalked through the lush turf as he made for some unknown location. Curiosity peaked, Harlow hastily stood up as she addressed Glenn, "You mind taking over watch?"

"Yeah, yeah." He grumbled before adding in an afterthought, "Just wish I knew where Dale went..."

"Me too, Glenn." Harlow said truthfully as she slid down the ladder, landing onto the hard earth below with an audible _thump_. "Me too."

* * *

Harlow followed Daryl to a remote section of the property, keeping several paces behind the roughened man as curiosity spurred her advances. Well manicured turf quickly transformed into thick, overgrown verdure as they slowly came across a lake, nestled within the foliage of vegetation. An ill-kept boat sat perched atop an equally beat up wooden dock, untouched by the rivulets of water for what looked to be years.

Harlow's feet crunched against the ground below, thinking it folly for Daryl not to hear the pursuing girl. Sure enough, he stopped in his tracks, calling out over his shoulder, "You tryin' to be sneaky or somethin'?" Whirling around, his gaze met hers, without a trace of a smile from either one of them.

"Even if I tried, I don't think I could sneak around without you knowing about it." Harlow retorted as she struggled through the leafy growth until she was standing face-to-face with Daryl, bringing a gritty _harumph_ from within him.

"Y'got that right." He said. "Whaddya want?"

"Nothing," She said simply. "What are you doing out here?"

"None of yer damn business, that's what." His snappish reply brought a confused look from her as she folded her arms firmly in front of her chest.

"Okay... you don't have to tell me." She conceded. "You want company, at least?"

"No."

"Well, that's too bad." She sent a coy grin his way as she stepped around him, walking towards the edge of the grand body of still water. There was a pause from behind her, yet the detectable tenor of footsteps from behind soon followed as Harlow's grin broadened.

"Change your mind?"

"Shut it," Daryl growled from behind. "You take the fun outta bein' an ass, that's for damn sure."

"Sorry, Dixon. There's only room for one leading ass between us, and that's going to be me." She shot him another toothy grin, not the least bit surprised that one was not given back, as the duo pressed on until they stood, side-by-side, by the water's still edge. Towering reeds acted as a makeshift barrier between them and the still waters ahead. The chirring of living things echoed in the distance, emphasizing the silence between the two, yet it was not an uncomfortable moment, at least not for Harlow. That was one of the growing number of things she liked about Daryl's company: his presence alone left her as calm as the glassy surface of the lake, glistening under the relentless sun above. She half-hoped that he felt the same in her company.

Yet there was a question tugging at the back of her mind, yearning to be answered. Before she could stop herself, her voice shattered the the dense quiet shrouding them. "So... what do you think of Shane?"

Daryl knitted his brows at her question. "The hell you askin' me for?" He let out a low exhale of breath. "Don't matter what I think, anyways."

"It matters to me." Her words brought a baffled look from him.

"He's Rick's right-hand man, no matter what I say 'bout the guy." Daryl chewed on the inside of his mouth, and Harlow thought that was the end of the discussion, yet his next set of words surprised her as he blurted out, "But if it means that much to you, I'll say this: I don't like the way he looks at you."

Harlow waited a moment after, hoping he would elaborate. When nothing else was issued from him, she replied tersely, "How the hell does he look at me?"

"Same look he gives Dale, or even Rick from time to time." His surly demeanor swelled as he recounted those moments. "Looks as if he's gonna lash out you. Hurt you, even. It's damn near pissin' me off."

Harlow chomped down on her lower lip, knowing _exactly_ what look he was talking about.

"I'll tell you what, if he ever lays a hand on you, or anyone else for that matter, it'll be the last thing that sumbitch ever does. No question about it."

His sudden protective nature left Harlow floored, even touched by this. "I - uh, don't know what to say..."

"Don't have to say nothin'," Daryl shrugged. "Jus' the way it's gonna be... and why're you askin', anyways? What do _you_ think of ol' Shane?"

With parted lips, Harlow mulled his question over, fighting the urge to explain what Dale told her, of what she knew, or _thought_ she knew. Eventually, she settled for, "I don't know, I barely know the guy. I just thought I'd ask and see what you thought." She settled the matter with an evasive shrug, though it looked like it hardly appeased Daryl's curiosity.

The silence returned, now clouded with thoughts of Shane's dangerous demeanor, as it enveloped the pair who continued to stare out ahead. However, it did not last long as Daryl's voice now broke the wordless moment.

"Reason why I'm out here is 'cause of Carol..." He managed. "Ran into her earlier. Implied she was givin' up hope on us findin' her little girl. Ain't that somethin'?" Daryl snorted as he wiped a hand out and grazed the leafage in front of them, drawing a harsh rustle from impact as it made Harlow stir in astonishment.

"She's gone through a lot," Harlow reasoned, her voice deeper and more nurturing than usual, keeping her gaze focused on the serene view before her. "Losing her husband, and now with her daughter missing... with everything we've seen so far, it's easy to give up on whatever hope is left in us."

"Then why the hell are we even tryin' to stay alive if we ain't got no hope?" Daryl growled. "Without it, we're nothin'... better off dead, even." Daryl breathed heavily through his nose as he presesd on willingly, "To be honest, that little girl, alive out there, is the last bit of hope I have left in this world gone to hell. Without that, then the hell do I got left?"

Harlow felt her stomach clench as his words impacted her in a way that was almost otherworldly. Frowning inwardly, she felt her mental barriers, corroded by time, crumble as she prepared to divulge information that was never shared to anyone else before.

"I watched my brother die." She began, fighting to speak in a steady, unwavering tone. "It was weeks after the initial outbreak, and we were nearly to Virginia when it happened. It was just the two of us, and even now I wonder if things would've been different if we went a different route, or even traveled with others that we met along the way... but that doesn't make a damn bit of difference now. " She cleared her throat before continuing, "We were surrounded by those things, and somehow he got _bit_... but he just kept on going, until every one of those godless bastards was put down. And then we kept going, until... well, until he-"

She shook her head violently as she struggled to continue. The entire time, Daryl stared, gaze unblinking and lips pressed tightly shut.

"I had to put my brother down. He told me, before I did it, that he didn't want to come back as one of those things, so I shot him before he could. And I remember thinking, 'There's no goddamn hope left.'"

A pearl of sweat streaked down the side of her face, and for a moment she feared it was a single tear, yet she knew the anguish of her brother's death had been all but spent, and she was left with nothing but a hollow emptiness in place of this very memory.

"I thought that for the longest time, and frankly, I was the biggest _idiot_ for thinking that. There's always something to be hopeful for, for something to _live_ for, you just have to look for it."

And Harlow saw, what was plainly in front of her, a single blossoming flower within the foliage, and within it's splendor held the very thing that they had been preaching this entire time: hope.

"Cherokee Rose," Daryl said in a low, yet tender tone as Harlow reached a hand towards the flower, running the tips of her fingers against the fleshy, pallid petals of the blooming object. "Yer right, Harlow, about all that."

Turning to each other, their eyes locked, blue finding the grey, as they came to a mutual understanding of the flower's hidden meaning.

"Sorry 'bout your brother." Daryl offered in a sincere apology.

"Sorry about yours," She returned, giving him a slow nod of her own head. Whether he knew about her knowledge of Merle or not remained unseen to her as the southerner jerked his head back towards the farmhouse.

"Gonna head back... find Carol to show her this." He made a motion to the flower in front of them. "Should lift her spirits. You comin'?"

"Yeah... yeah, I'm coming." She turned away from the precious bloom as she followed Daryl back, now finding several more reasons as to why she found herself drawn to him.

* * *

Harlow fell into a stoic state as she stood rigid on the porch of the farmhouse, leaning her angular frame against a wooden beam that ran from the floor to the roof. She had returned with Daryl several moments ago, only to have him leave soon after with Carol following closely at his heels. Harlow remained behind, however, feeling she should wait for Rick to return so they could get a proper search going. It had been hours since his mysterious disappearance, and each minute that passed left feeling more anxious.

While Carl, Beth and Patricia played checkers behind the blond-headed girl, Glenn and Maggie sat on the front steps of the porch, speaking in hushed and loving tones, which was an adorable sight in Harlow's opinion.

_Looks like they made up._

However, a darkening thought began to swell within the back of her mind. Rick's absence now intertwined with Dale's and, as she soon came to realize, Shane was no where in sight either. She hoped to whatever end that he had not gone after the older man; she feared what would happen if he did.

"Hey!" A tiny voice bloomed from behind. Harlow jerked her head back to find Carl, abandoning the game to join her. "What are you doing?"

"S'up, kid." Harlow grinned, fighting to push her negative thoughts to the back of her mind. "Just waiting for your dad to get back so we can go look for Sophia." She jerked her head towards the checker board. "Did you win?"

"No... Beth did." Carl grumbled. "I'm pretty good, though. You should play me sometime!"

"Hah, that'd be an easy win for you." Harlow forced out a chuckle as she rubbed the back of her arm. "Haven't played in years. You'll have to teach me the ropes sometime."

"Okay." He gave her an enthusiastic bob of his head before returning to the small group of women. Her gaze lingered on the adolescent, grinning to herself. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted T-Dog and Andrea walking towards the porch with a determined step. Glenn hastily stood up as everyone turned to the advancing pair.

"D'you know what's going on?" T-Dog directed his attention to the others as Harlow tore herself away from the beam and made her way down the stairs of the front porch, careful not to trip over Maggie.

"Where is everyone?" Andrea followed in quick succession.

"You haven't seen Rick?" Glenn appeared confused as Harlow joined him at the base of the porch.

"He went off with Hershel. We were supposed to leave a couple hours ago." Andrea answered, jerking a head towards Harlow.

"Yeah you were... what the hell?!" Daryl's voice was heard first before Harlow caught sight of the surly man stomping towards the others, Carol trailing not far behind as the duo finally returned from their trip to the lake. Carol glanced around frantically as her timid voice rang out, "Rick told us he was going out."

"_Damn it_. Isn't anybody takin' this seriously?!" Daryl barked before flinging his arm wildly beind him. "We got us a damn trail!"

Harlow felt an odd sensation rise within as she watched the man unleash his annoyance at the others. Oddly enough, the comfort in his presence resurfaced, even if he was in an aggitated state. However, this feeling was quelled as the sight of another figure loomed ever closer: Shane.

"Ah, here we go." Daryl said, stepping towards the advancing behemoth. Harlow felt her heart sink as she spotted the group's guns within Shane's burly grasp, yet Dale was no where in sight. She craned her neck with fleeting hope that the older man would magically resurface behind Shane's broad frame, but her efforts in vain as there was nothing behind him but open pastures.  
It took every ounce of her being to stop herself from lashing out at the man, to confess to the others her suspicions about him. Come the end of the day, she would grow to hate herself for not doing that very thing as Shane would soon set in motion events that would forever change this group.

"What's all this?" Daryl asked, yet Shane disregarded his question as he thrusted a shotgun towards the southerner.

"You with me, man?"

Daryl glanced back and forth from the weapon to Shane, mulling his question over before tearing it from his grasp and muttering, "Yeah."

Shane turned his attention to the others surrounding the porch, his voice rising for everyone to be of witness to his master plan, "Time to grow up!"The audible cocking of Daryl's shotgun added emphasis to Shane's words as he went on to address Andrea, "You already got yours?"

"Yeah... where's Dale?" Andrea inquired. Shane hesitated as he directed his narrowed gaze at Harlow, an unreadable expression plastered upon weary features. She felt her hands clench into fists as she spoke out, "Yeah, Shane... where _is_ Dale?"

Shane stepped towards the girl, giving her a brief nod of his head as he grunted out, "He's on his way... you got yer gun?"

Movement regained, and with a blazing glimmer in her steely eyes, she retrieved her Beretta from behind the waist of her jeans in a wordless reply to his question.

"Thought so," Shane muttered under his breath before moving on to pass out the other weapons. Harlow tilted her gaze downwards, eyeing her handgun with a pained expression. She felt torn as the weight of her Beretta grew heavy within her clutches. Within the depths of her being, she felt he was making the right call in passing out the weapons, yet the fact that it was Shane's decision left a rancid taste in her mouth. Lost in her own thoughts, she felt another pair of eyes on her, and was mildly taken aback to find that they belonged to Daryl, shooting an unreadable glance between herself and Shane.

"I thought we couldn't carry?" T-Dog inquired as a handgun was forced into his ebony hands.

"We _can_ and we _have_ to." Shane snapped before carrying on, directing his attention to the others. "Look, it was one thing sittin' around here pickin' daisies when we thought this place was supposed to be safe, but now we know it ain't!" Moving towards Glenn, he held out a shotgun for the lanky man before him, "How 'bout you, man? You gonna protect yours?"

Shooting a hesitant glance towards Maggie, Glenn eventually accepted the weapon grudgingly.

"That's it... can you shoot?" Shane turned to Maggie, yet the sour look she gave him suggested he made a mistake in including her in this.

"Can you _stop_?!" She rounded on him. "You do this, you hand out these guns, my dad will make you leave tonight!"

"We have to stay, Shane." Carl chimed in from the safety of the porch. As if on cue, Lori appeared, storming out of the house as she called out, "What is this?!"

"We ain't goin' anywhere, okay?" Shane addressed Carl before turning back to the others, "Now look, Hershel... he's just gotta understand, okay? He- well, he's gonna have to."

Harlow furrowed her brows. "And how the hell are we going to make Hershel understand?"

"We're just _gonna_." Shane snapped. Advancing towards Carl, he held out a revolver for the adolescent, a decision Harlow found to be in bad taste with his mother hovering not far away.

"Now we need to find Sophia, am I right?" Shane knelt down before Carl, meeting his line of sight. He continued when the boy failed to reply, "Huh? Now I want you to take this." He thrusted the gun towards the boy again. "You take it, Carl, and you keep your mother safe. You do whatever it takes. You know how. Go on, take the gun and do it-"

Lori swooped in, pushing her child behind her as she towered over Shane. "Rick said _no guns_. This is not your call. This is not your _decision_ to make!"

"Oh _shit_!" T-Dog's sudden outburst drew Harlow from the scene before her as her attention shifted towards a distant sight, one that chilled her to her very core. Emerging from the outer line of trees, Rick and Hershel appeared, each leading an undead monster at the end of a long snare pole. Jimmy was in front, clapping and waving his arms for the ghouls to take notice, shambling towards the younger man as they slowly crept towards the distant barn.

"What is that..." Shane growled as he tore off in their direction, the others close at his heels. Harlow was momentarily frozen in shock at the sight, if not a bit baffled at what the hell Rick and Hershel were doing. Was this his master plan in winning Hershel's trust: To corral those cadavers like they were animals? This petrified state soon passed, and a split second later she was vaulting after them with surprising speed, her limbs pumping furiously to catch up to the others as the distance between them and Rick narrowed.

"_What is that_!" Shane's voice rang out over the stampede, throwing the gate open in a flourish as he lead the way towards the hellish sight before them. "What the hell are you doing?!" He cried out, attempting to cut in front of the trio of zombie wranglers.

"Shane, just back off!" Rick warned, struggling to keep hold of the ensnared monstrosity A pudgy looking cadaver clad in a tainted blue jumpsuit let out a garbled snarl as it writhed beneath the cable, finding new prey through its ghastly, murky stare.

The others caught up to Shane and began crowding around the sight before them, with gaping mouths and wide, unblinking eyes. Harlow stood next to Daryl, with one hand on her firearm and the other grasping at her throbbing chest. The southerner let out raspy exhales of breath, his shotgun raised and aimed at the nearest walker.

"Why do you people have guns?" Hershel called out, clearly disregarding the look of horror on everyone's faces as he fought to keep his own mobile carcass in line.

"Are you kidding me?" Shane asked incredulously, thrusting a finger towards Hershel as he addressed the others. "You see? You see what they're holding onto?!"

"I see _who_ I'm holding onto!" Hershel exclaimed, as if that would be enough to subdue the looks of horror received by the others.

"No, man, you _don't_!" Shane cut through the man's words as he circled around them.

"Shane, just let us do this and then we can talk!" Rick pleaded.

"What do you want to talk about, Rick?!" Shane hollered out as he dodged the swinging fish-belly extremity of the dead jumpsuit bastard, lunging for a taste of unspoiled meat. "These things ain't sick... they're not _people_! They're _dead_! Ain't gotta feel nothin' for them 'cause all they do, they _kill_! These things right here, they're the things that killed Amy. They killed Otis. They're gonna kill all of us-"

"Shane, _shut up_!" Rick blared.

"Hey, Hershel man, lemme ask you somethin'," Shane, blatantly disregarding Rick's pleas, stomped in between the others and the barn. He reached behind his back, and in the blink of an eye, withdrew a handgun. "Could a livin' breathin' person... could they walk away from _this_?"

Harlow flinched before Shane had a chance to raise his weapon towards the death-ridden figure at the end of Hershel's pole. The creature was once a woman, though through the decay and mangled flesh, it was unclear how old she was, or would have been. The emaciated wraith drew cracked lips over blackened, jagged teeth, letting out a rusty growl of feral hunger before Shane pulled the trigger three times. The shots burst through the air in quick succession as the bullets tore gaping holes in the walker's chest, yet it did not quell its persistent shambling towards the man before it. The look on Hershel's face proved to Harlow that he had never seen anything like this before while Rick bellowed for Shane to stop.

"That's three rounds in the chest!" Shane roared. "Could someone who's alive, could they just take that? Why's it still comin'?!" Pointing the barrel of the gun at the creature once again, he fired off two more rounds, breaching the chest cavity. The thing recoiled from the momentum of the bullets, yet it did not stop its advancements.

"That's its heart, its lungs! Why's it still comin'?!"

More gunshots followed as the walker's soiled dress was now riddled with bullet holes.

"Shane, _enough_!" Rick begged, which did not warrant an ideal reaction from Shane as he advanced towards them with a determined step.

"Yeah... you're right, man. That is _enough_." Shane stomped right up to the snarling creature, and in one fluid motion, pointed the gun at the dead woman's cranium and pulled the trigger, putting it to rest once in for all as darkened sludge exploded from the back of its head. It arced gracefully towards the ground, landing in a slumped heap as the pole was wretched from Hershel's grasp. Shane turned from the others as the older man collapsed onto his knees, keening in despair.

Harlow chanced an apprehensive glance at the others in the brief moment of silence that followed. Lori fought to keep Carl back, Jimmy placed his hands atop his head in visible despair, Andrea and Patricia recoiled in shock, and Carol clasped a hand over her mouth to hide back her own emotions, yet their reactions were nothing compared to Rick's, who stood in stoic silence as he took in his friend's deranged actions.

"_Enough_ riskin' our lives for a little girl who's _gone_!" Shane broke the tense silence as he turned back to the others, bringing an audible gasp from Carol as he carried on. "_Enough_ livin' next to a barn full of things that are tryin' to kill us! _Enough_!" Turning to his best friend, Shane pressed onward. "Rick, it ain't like it was before..."

Rick scowled as the irate man now addressed the others as a whole, "Now, if y'all wanna live, if you want to survive, you gotta fight for it! I'm talkin' about fightin', right here, _RIGHT NOW_!"

And with that, Shane vaulted towards the structure of the barn. Harlow's eyes widened as the terrifying realization of what Shane was about to do sent her emotions in a spiral. She shot Daryl an agonizing glance, which he returned with a cold and distant look of his own. Was he really on board with this plan? Was _anyone_?

"Take the snare pole... Hershel, take the snare pole!" Rick's voice sounded murky and distant, as if it came from some faraway memory. "_HERSHEL! _Take it!"

Harlow's hands shook violently as she fidgeted in place, turning to watch with wide, unblinking eyes as Shane grabbed a nearby pickaxe and began his relentless assault on the barn door.

"Do not do this, brother!" Rick's cries became pitiful as Shane buried the curved edge of the weapon into the metal lock, breaking it and chucking it to the side.

"Don't do it!" Glenn's words mingled with Lori's cries for her husband. Harlow felt her own outcries well up within, yet nothing was uttered past parched lips as she continued to watch in horror as Shane tore the wooden barrier from the entrance to the barn, casting it to the side, and thrusting his open palm against the now vulnerable doors, bellowing out, "C'mon! C'mon, we're out here!"

"This is not the way!" Rick's voice strained from sheer volume. Harlow found, this entire time, that Hershel was staring at the madness before him in anguished silence, unable to stop the unraveling chaos. It was the image of a man who was truly broken. Maggie hunched over and wrapped her arms around her father, her face twisted in emotional affliction as she attempted to comfort him, but it appeared her efforts were in vain.

Shane backed away several paces from the double doors to the barn, raising his gun and taking aim. Through all the madness surrounding her, Harlow failed to notice the feral moans issuing from inside, growing louder with each passing second.

"Oh shit... oh shit, shit _shit_!" Harlow swore involuntarily as the grasp on her Beretta tightened. She realized the decision was made on how to deal with the walker threat the moment Shane ripped away the locks holding them back. Whether she agreed to it or not, it now had to be done. Like Shane said, they had to fight for their lives.

The sound of the first monstrous cannibal was heard before the creature shambled past the gaping doors in a trademark spasmodic gait. Scarlet-stained lips drew back in an ominous leer as its shark-like eyes sought out the living beings before it. This was the first of many as the hellish demons poured out in waves, tendons pulsing like worms and guttural moans issuing forth from gaping divots of mouths. Shane let out a sound in likeness to the dead things before them as he squeezed the trigger of his gun, signaling the start of the onslaught.

Harlow glanced towards Daryl, wordlessly begging for some sort of affirmation to take action. Craning his head towards the girl, his eyes found hers, and for a brief moment she forgot the dangerous beings looming ever closer. This small sense of peace was soon broken as he gave her a sharp jerk of his head before storming in the direction of the oncoming swarm, taking his place next to Shane as he lined his sights and fired, the shotgun jolting from recoil in his firm arms.

Harlow wasted no time in tearing after the younger Dixon; with both hands grasping the handle of her own gun and feet firmly planted hip width apart, she raised her weapon and took aim. However, the rough surface of her index finger failed to squeeze down on the trigger. Letting out a strained huff, she cried out, "I'm sorry, Hershel," before finally taking action, finding the will to pull the trigger. Her bullet found its way into a spindly geriatric's skull, sending the creature in a tailspin towards the ground below.

Andrea and T-Dog immediately lined up next to them, getting their own firearms up and roaring against the macabre horde. The fusillade of gunshots echoed throughout the once serene landscape as Glenn followed suite, allowing the cracking of his weapon to join the others in a symphony of war. Somehow, amid the fray, Harlow failed to notice Shane as he pointed his gun directly behind him, taking out the walker that Rick fought to keep control of for so long.

Wedged in between Daryl and T-Dog, Harlow kept her eyes fixed on her Beretta's sights as she delivered cold metal justice to the advancing walkers. A volley strafes the skulls of several lumbering cadavers, bringing them down to join their fallen comrades. This onslaught continued until the last shambling creature was put down, a ringing silence echoing throughout the area in the aftermath of the bloodbath.

Harlow allowed her arms to swing limply back to her side, taking in the mass of bodies before her. The others slowly followed suit, an unreadable expression on the faces of everyone who took part. Harlow, however, felt overwhelming guilt bubble within. The bodies, as they lay in fragmented and mangled heaps, seemed less monstrous than before, now the lifeless and broken images of those the Greene family once knew and loved.

"This... this was a goddamn massacre." She breathed.

Chancing a glance back towards Hershel, the look in his heavily lidded eyes brought shame and remorse to the girl. "What the hell have we _done_...?"

Another sight left a sickening sensation in the pit of her gut: Dale, staring in awe and disbelief at what lay before him, had appeared just in time to see the group's actions. With tremorous hands, she shoved the barrel of her gun within the waist of her jeans and slowly made her way towards the familiar man, weaving through the sea of distraught faces, and stopping inches away from his own look of dismay. Neither of them dared chance a glance at the other, yet that didn't stop Dale from reaching out to Harlow, gripping her shoulder with a firm grasp. Through her muddled thoughts, she was glad to see was all right, grasping his hand with her own as she gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Dale... I-"

Her words were silenced as another raspy growl bloomed from the dank interior of the barn. Slowly pivoting her head towards the gaping entrance, she remained agonizingly quiet next to Dale, her weary mind unable to fathom taking out another one of those things.

The petite silhouette lurked in the shadows for a moment that felt like an eternity as, one by one, the others turned their attention back towards the barn, waiting with baited breath, as a tiny human being shuffled into the bright sunlight. A little girl - or at least the rotting, contorted facsimile of a little girl - stood before them, with matted brunette locks and soiled clothing. She gazed around at the others though sunken, milky eyes as if awakening from a dream. Something about this child chilled Harlow to her very core; she had seen things that would make a grown man cower in fear without flinching, yet it all paled in comparison to this very sight.

"Sophia... _Sophia_!"

Carol's distant cries grew louder until they pierced her eardrums, more harrowing and deafening than any noise that befell her senses. The wailing woman stumbled past Harlow and the others as she fought to sprint towards the little girl, no one making a motion to stop her, safe for Daryl. The man snaked his arms around the mother as the two collapsed to the ground, and with a firm grasp, he held the sobbing woman close as she clawed helplessly at the dirt below.

"Oh no... _Sophia_!"

Yet this was all confusing to Harlow. Why was Carol crying for her daughter? Why did everyone look so upset? This was not Sophia - for fuck's sake, it couldn't be. She was still alive out there, she _had_ to be.

"No... oh God, _no_." Dale's voice echoed her own thoughts as she slowly came to grasps with the situation before her, feeling her stomach clench in pure horror as the child took slow, jerking steps forward, weaving through the bodies strewn below as she sought out the living, petrified beings before her. This thing, this monster, was the only thing left of the little girl they fought so hard to search for.

"_How the hell is this possible_?" Harlow's mind cried out into the heavens.

The hand clenching Dale's trembled as Harlow fought, with all her might, to maintain composure. Audible outcries of sadness came from the others, mingling with Carol's own anguished sobs; Even Shane seemed overcome with emotion as he bowed his head, unable to look at the undead girl before him.

Then, at the apex of their despair, Rick took slow, determined steps forward as he approached the twisted visage of Sophia. Upholstering his Colt Python, he brushed past Shane and Andrea before raising the barrel of the gun, taking careful aim. The child seemed unfazed by this as she continued to lumber forward, naive to her impending doom.

A gunshot shattered their surroundings, and like a dainty marionette with its strings cut, the creature swayed to the ground, bringing an end to her cruel existence.

As the blast of sound echoed into oblivion, nothing was left, save for Carol's lamenting wails and a shared hollowness within every living soul. Harlow felt, as a trembling exhale of breath passed parted lips, the last remains of hope evaporating into the air, now permeated with death and misery.

_"Where do we go now?_  
_I don't know._  
_I see my face in your aural glow._  
_And if I could be just one thing I'd be laid beneath the ocean's majestic waves."_

_-The Murdocks, "My Scarlet Purpose_


	9. Hallelujah

**A/N: Thanks to everyone for your reviews, follows, favorites, etc.! Let me know what you think of the story so far, and feel free to let me know what you want to see in the coming chapters! :)**

**Song recommendation: "Hallelujah" by Jeff Buckley. **

* * *

_"Well maybe there's a God above,_  
_But all I've ever learned from love_  
_Was how to shoot somebody who'd outdrew you._  
_And it's not a cry that you hear at night,_  
_It's not somebody who's seen in the light,_  
_It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah."_

Hallelujah

Time ceased to make sense to Harlow as she stood, rigid in place, for a moment that felt like an eternity. Familiar figures weaved past her line of sight, blurred and ghostly, as if wandering in the depths of her darkest nightmare. Yet this nightmare had been transported into the real world, full of dead things - dead people.

In her lethargic stupor, she failed to notice Carol sprint past her in a fit of despair, and was blind to Beth as she stumbled towards her mother's carcass, sobbing for the unrecognizable being before her. She didn't even flinch at the countless bodies that riddled the ground below in a baptism of oily, cranial fluid.

All Harlow could think about was Sophia, mourning a little girl she never met, and now would never meet.

It was the pitiful screams of Beth that finally drew her from her thoughts, snapping harshly back into reality to find the girl hunching over the clawing, feral beast that was once her mother. With long, sinewy hands, the once believed dead thing grasped onto the petrified girl and fought to pull her towards its gaping hole of a mouth, snarling with demonized hunger.

Harlow, along with the others, sprung into action, bolting for the scene before them. While Shane and Rick attempted to heave the girl out of harm's way, Glenn and Harlow grappled with the macabre horror, prying its mangled hooks from outstretched arms.

"Get her back - get her the _fuck_ back!" Harlow bellowed once she was free from the decaying ensnarement. Wrapping his broad arms around Beth's torso, Shane dragged the unharmed girl out of snapping range, yet the creature had set its sights on a new main course: Harlow.

"Oh _fuck_!" Harlow gasped as the rasping monster fought to grab hold of her, clasping her forearms with surprising strength. She let out a garbled cry in surprise as T-Dog joined the fray, delivering blowing kicks to the thing's head, yet it did not quell its ravenous nature as it endured, pulling Harlow ever closer.

Suddenly, Andrea appeared, grasping a scythe, and like a wielder of death, drove the curved hook of the blade into the dead thing's cranium, exploding through the forehead with a sickening crack. The walker immediately slackened its hold on Harlow as she tumbled back, landing onto her posterior with a sharp intake of breath. Chest heaving, she stared about with wide eyes as Andrea ripped the weapon from the walker's skull, slumping back to the earth in a lifeless mound of flesh and bone.

"Are you okay?!" Glenn managed as he helped Harlow back to unsteady feet.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine." She stammered, rubbing the section of flesh that the walker grappled with only moments before. No scratches. She let out a sigh of relief as she shot a glance behind her, a noticeable frown on her weary features when she discovered Daryl was no where in sight.

* * *

Clouds masked the sun above as the overcast sky turned a shade of pewter, hanging low over the heads of those who worked tediously at digging three graves, Harlow being one of them. Beads of sweat formed above her brow as she drove the shovel into the hard earth, nearly done with forming a gaping hole for Sophia's eternal resting spot. A borrowed red bandanna, tattered from repeated use, was tied around her face, covering her nose and mouth in an attempt to keep the thick motes of grave dirt from travelling into her airway. Either way, she felt suffocated.

"I think that's deep enough." T-Dog called out from above. Harlow shook her head, disregarding his words as she drove the metal end of the shovel deeper, shooting a burst of brownish earth over the wall of the makeshift grave.

"Harlow, you're good!" T-Dog hollered out again. Furrowing her brows, the girl glared up at him, yet silently conceded as she allowed the ebony man to help hoist her out of the hole she had just created.

"We shouldn't be digging a grave for Sophia." Harlow murmured, her words muffled through the fabric covering her mouth. "She shouldn't be dead."

T-Dog bowed his head, giving her shoulder a gentle pat before moving to help Andrea and Jimmy with lowering the bodies into their individual holes. Harlow tossed her shovel to the side and followed suit, her scowl lingering even after the bodies of Annette, Shawn and Sophia were laid to rest and the last bit of dirt covered their lifeless forms. Her face slackened only when three large stones, serving as monuments, were placed at the head of each grave.

Tearing the bandanna from her face, Harlow stuffed the fabric into the back pocket of her jeans while the others made their way towards the campsite to wash up for the impending funeral service. Harlow, on the other hand, allowed the filth to remain, her clothing and extremities both lousy and caked with splotches of dirt.

As she trailed behind the others, her eyes, rivaling the hue of the ashen sky above, flickered towards the R.V. as Lori emerged from the interior of the mobile home. Harlow's feet effortlessly moved towards the lanky woman, stopping mere feet away from her.

"How is she?" Harlow croaked out as she referred to Carol, who was currently holed up in the Winnebago.

"Not good," Lori explained. "I don't think she'll be coming out anytime soon."

"What about the funeral?"

Lori's silence was enough of an answer for Harlow as she let out a dreary sigh. "Do you mind if I go talk to her?"

"No, of course not." Lori gave Harlow a small bow of her head before moving past and making for the grove of tents.

As Harlow neared the entrance to the Winnebago, Daryl's volatile form burst forth from the front door, the blonde-haired female unflinching at his sudden appearance. Her gaze sought out his cobalt eyes, which were cold and distant, as he glared down at the begrimed woman.

"What?" He growled, his voice low and menacing, as if daring her to reply.

"I didn't say anything." Harlow deadpanned in a completely serious manner, uninterested in their usual lighthearted banter; from the acrid look on his face, she gathered that he felt the same way. "Are you alright?"

"The hell you think?" Daryl growled rhetorically.

"Same as the rest of us, I imagine." Harlow said while stepping around him as she jarred the door open.

"Gonna try talkin' some sense into that damn woman?" Daryl asked in a gritty tone. "Don't bother, she ain't comin' out for nothin'."

"She doesn't have to." And with that, she disappeared from view, closing the door on Daryl's surly features.

The interior of the R.V. was a somber place as Carol sat by the dining table, her back turned to Harlow as she gazed out the small window, emotionless and detached. She didn't bother flinching at the sudden burst of noise as Harlow took careful steps towards the woman, sliding into the bench opposite of her.

"How are you holding up?" Harlow asked, yet no answer could be found as Carol continued to sit, lethargically silent.

"Lori said you weren't coming to join the others... can I ask why?"

Silence. Not even a nod or shake of her head.

"Is it because..." Harlow hesitated, unsure of how to phrase her next set of words. "Is it because of what she turned into?"

Eventually, Carol gave a meek nod of her head, speaking out in a trembling voice, "That... that _thing_ that you all buried out there... that was not my daughter. Why would I mourn the loss of some _monster_?"

Harlow's mind raced as she fought for the right words to counteract what Carol uttered.

"Carol... I-" She stammered for a long while, fighting to collect her thoughts. She could have scolded the woman for saying such things about her own daughter, or perhaps even pleaded with her to change her mind, to pay her last respects to the dead girl. Maybe even Carol expected it, visibly bracing for whatever Harlow had to counter her cold words.

Instead, Harlow asked in a polite manner, "Do you have a picture of her? Of Sophia?"

Carol hesitated before slowly dipping her head in a silent "yes".

"Can I see it?" Harlow questioned.

Carol didn't move for the longest time, and Harlow thought that maybe she would never move from that spot. However, Carol finally stirred out of her chair and made for the back of the R.V., disappearing from view for a moment before returning to her original place, clutching a worn photograph within trembling hands. Harlow made a motion for the picture, which Carol slowly complied, allowing her to gently take it from her limp clutches.

As Harlow studied the picture, she felt an odd sensation churn within. Pewter eyes gazed upon the face of a carefree, doe-eyed child, forever frozen within the flimsy photograph. Sophia's smile lit up the entire picture, up to the very corners of it, and Harlow suddenly realized that the brewing feeling within was that of sadness. A life, so pure and innocent, cut down in this unkind world.

"Carol, I want you to listen to me." Harlow began, fighting to keep her voice a level tone. "This picture of your daughter, _this_ is how you want to remember her. Not of what she _became_, but of what she was _before_ all of this." She passed the snapshot back to Carol, continuing as moisture welled up in the mother's eyes. "Sophia would want it that way."

Tears streamed down Carol's face as she gazed at the image of her daughter through glistening eyes, choking out a sob. Harlow hastily moved to the opposite side of the table, sitting next to the tearful mother as she wrapped an arm around her frail shoulders.

"Look at that _smile_." Carol let out a watery, mournful laugh as the tips of her fingers traced the outline of her daughter. "It was her first day of school... Ed didn't want to waste the film, but I couldn't help myself... she looked so _precious_."

Harlow tilted her head to the side, pressing it against Carol's sweltering temple as she gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze.

"I'm not ready to go out there," Carol said, barely above a whisper. "I can't. Not yet..."

"You don't have to go out there now if you're not ready," Harlow murmured. "You'll have all the time in the world to visit her, as much as you'd like. There's no rush."

"Thank you," Carol whimpered as another tear streaked down her cheek, colliding with the flesh on Harlow's collarbone as the two remained for the longest time.

* * *

Harlow saw, as she slowly approached the grave site that the funeral service had already begun. The small group congregated in a haphazard semi-circle while Hershel stood before them, dressed in his Sunday best, in the midst of a heart-felt speech about his late wife, Annette.

"...She was a courageous, God fearing-woman, to the very end..."

Harlow's lean frame filed in between Lori, with her arms wrapped around Carl, and Daryl, who stood farther off in detached solitude. A gust of wind threatened to carry Hershel's words off as he bowed his head for prayer.

"Almighty God, you judge us with infinite mercy and justice and love everything you have made..."

While few others cast their heads downwards in reverence to his words, Harlow noticed Daryl, shooting her a sour look as he mouthed, "_Where's Carol_?"

"...In your mercy, turn the darkness of death into the dawn of new life, and the sorrow of parting into the joy of heaven..."

Pursing her lips together, Harlow shook her head in a somber answer. A shadow fell upon his features as he turned away from her, a look of heavy affliction within clear blue eyes. Even Lori, who had witnessed the interaction between the two, seemed troubled by this as she turned back ahead, the grip on her son tightening as she rested her chin atop his brunette head.

"...We thank you that Annette, Shawn and Sophia are in your gentle and loving hands, far from the cruelty, violence and pain of our world..."

A sharp intake of breath issued from Beth as she fought to hold back anguished tears. Maggie shifted next to her sister, arms folded firmly in front of her chest as she stared ahead with narrowed eyes.

"...When the trouble was near we could not understand how you seemed to remain far away, and yet it is to you we turn; for in life and death it is you alone whom we can trust, and yours alone is the love that holds us fast..."

Hershel's voice quavered as he fought on, yet there was something lacking in his words, as if he himself was losing faith in the message behind them.

"...We find it hard to forgive the deed that has brought us so much grief, but we know that, if life is soured by bitterness, an unforgiving spirit brings no peace..."

Rick, with his hands clasped firmly in front of him, stared at Sophia's grave with a look of deep contrition and guilt. Harlow knew he blamed himself for her death. Even if no one had told her that, the expression on his face told the entire story.

What if he didn't leave her alone in the woods to begin with? If he had only kept her close, or even found another way to keep her safe, perhaps she would still be alive. Perhaps Carl wouldn't have been shot by Otis. Hell, Harlow thought, Perhaps Shane wouldn't have killed Otis.

Or perhaps they would have never come to stay on Hershel's land, and maybe... just maybe, Daryl would have never saved Harlow's life...

"...Lord, save us and help us. Strengthen in us the faith and hope that they are freed from the past with all its hurt, and that they will rest forever in the calm security of your love, in Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

"Amen." The few that bothered to silently follow along with Hershel said this one word under their breath, as if lulled into a deep trance. The elderly man stepped back to join the group as they collectively fell into a stoic silence, and there they remained until, one at a time, they began to disperse, wandering off in different direction until the only ones left were Daryl and Harlow.

No words were passed between the two, no tender touches, or even a fleeting glance at the other, as they remained rigid in place, lost in their own sorrowful thoughts. Another surging breeze whipped through, loose strands of blonde tendrils dancing about Harlow's line of sight as she fought, with all her might, to maintain composure. As the wind died down, she spoke, directing her words to the mound of freshly tilled earth before her.

"I'm sorry, Sophia," She murmured. "I'm _so_ sorry that this happened to you."

She took a step forward, Daryl disappearing from her peripherals. She paid no mind to him, after all, her words were meant for no one else, save for the little girl buried six feet under.

"It should't have been like this," Harlow continued. "This isn't how I imagined our first conversation... I always thought we would find you, alive. Shitty how things work out, huh?" She gave the buried sight a weary exhale of breath. "But maybe it's for the best... you don't have to suffer anymore, or have to be afraid of those dead things out there. You're at peace... and some part of me is envious of that."

She shot the grave a small grin as she pressed on, "I'll look after your mom for you. Hell, we all will. I'm sorry she's not here yet, but give her time. She'll come around."

She craned her head, hoping to catch a glimpse of Daryl, yet found that his familiar features were no where in sight. All alone, she felt the hollow emptiness burrow deeper within before turning her gaze downwards, kicking out at the turf below as she choked out, "Anyways... goodbye, Sophia."

Turning around, she freed her hands from the confines of her pockets before setting off as well, wandering without a clear sense of purpose.

* * *

Harlow let out a hefty grunt as she helped T-Dog hoist a portly carcass into the bed of the blue truck. She had agreed to help Andrea and T-Dog in corralling the strewn bodies by the barn, a task that was far too gruesome for most of the others. Their ultimate plan was to haul the decaying load to a faraway sight for burning. But first, they had to move the bodies.

"This... _ung_ - isn't as easy as it _looks_." Harlow wheezed as she staggered under the weight of dead mass, grasping its legs while T-Dog took hold of the arms.

"A few more trips." Rick said as he slowly approached the group, glancing between the gathered bodies and the bodies _still_ to be gathered.

"We got lucky," Andrea began, leaning against the azure exterior of the vehicle as she fought to catch her breath. "If that barn had any more, we could've been overrun."

"Bet Shane didn't think about that while he was on his little rampage." Harlow grumbled as she, along with T-Dog, flung the stationary cadaver into the bed of the truck to join the growing mound bodies. Dale, who stood by the vehicle moments before, stepped out of the way just in time. "That should be enough for trip _numero uno_."

"Well, good thing Shane did what he did, _when_ he did." T-Dog breathed, stretching his arms out.

"You _can't_ tell me this was right." Dale said in a low voice.

"It wasn't," Rick agreed. "It'll cost us with Hershel."

"He's grieving. He'll come around." Andrea reasoned. "See, we had no choice." When the others didn't look as convinced as her, she pressed on. "Look, I shot too. This wasn't all Shane."

"As did I, but that doesn't mean I'm happy about it." Harlow grumbled. "Shane didn't really leave us with a choice, though."

"Look, I got no qualms about it." T-Dog chimed in. "Walkers in my backyard? _Hm-mmm_."

"I'm not saying that we shouldn't have taken care of the problem, but creating a _panic_-" Dale began as Harlow motioned wildly towards him, signaling her silent agreement with his words.

However, he was cut short as Lori spoke in a small, yet commanding voice. "There's no point arguing about it. It's done. There's nothing we can do about it."

And with that, the dispute was settled.

"Better get moving." T-Dog said while climbing into the driver's seat of the vehicle. Andrea made her way towards the bed of the truck with a stony glance at Harlow. She shrugged off the look as the engine roared to life, turning to walk away with Dale, Rick and Lori while the duo drove off with the first load of heaping carcasses.

"You have to know," Harlow began in a low voice as she addressed the trio walking beside her, "that I sure as _hell_ didn't agree with what Shane did earlier today... even if I did shoot, too."

"At that point, you were just looking out for the group." Rick offered her a sincere shoulder pat. "No telling what would have happened if you didn't join in. Besides, what's done is done."

Dale remained ominously quiet during their brief exchange. Harlow chomped down on her lower lip as she glanced sideways at the man, gazing imploringly at him. "You realize that, don't you, Dale?"

The older man opened his mouth to reply, yet whatever answer he had was stamped out as Jimmy sprinted up to them, frantic and wide-eyed.

"Has anyone seen Hershel?" He panted in a rushed frenzy.

"No... no we haven't-" Rick began slowly, turning to the others with a questionable look.

"Why? What is it?" Lori asked.

"It's Beth... something's happened."

* * *

Upon returning to the farmhouse, the others came to find Beth in the throes of Catatonia, lying listless and unmoving in her bed, a direct result of the overwhelming events that took place that very day. Maggie, in a panicked state, begged the others to find her father, yet to their dismay, Hershel was no where to be found. While others tended to her immobile stupor, Harlow, Maggie, Glenn, Rick, Lori, and even Shane searched through Hershel's room for any clues as to where he might have wandered off to.

"Your step-mother's things?" Rick asked as he sifted through cardboard boxes atop a freshly made bed, filled to the brim with various items.

"He was so sure she'd recover," Maggie explained, leaning against a rich mahogany dresser. "They'd just pick up where they left off..."

"I think what happened today might have made your dad crack." Harlow said in a thoughtful manner, emerging from the closet empty handed. Annette's trinkets, gathered together in a loving fashion by Hershel before his mysterious disappearance, seemed to shroud the room in a haunting reminder of what he had truly lost.

"I think you might be right," Maggie murmured.

"Looks like he found an old friend." Shane snorted as he waved a flask about in a flourish before tossing it Rick's way for closer examination.

"That belonged to my grandfather, gave it to dad when he died." Maggie mused aloud as she immediately retrieved the momentum from the former Deputy.

"That's one hell of a parting gift." Harlow muttered to Glenn, who shot her a sideways grimace.

"I didn't take Hershel for a drinker." Rick said in mild astonishment.

"No, he gave it up on the day I was born." Maggie clarified. "He didn't even allow liquor in the house."

"What's the bar in town?" Rick inquired in a careful manner.

"_Hatlin's_." Maggie fessed up. "He practically lived there in his drinking days."

"Betting that's where I'll find him." Rick said slowly.

"Yeah, I've seen the place. I'll take you." Glenn chimed in with an offer.

"All right," Rick bowed his head. "I'll get the truck-"

"N-no!" Maggie stammered, grabbing hold of Glenn as if that would be enough to stop him.

"It's an easy run." Glenn reassured her.

"Like the _pharmacy_?" Maggie questioned, her voice dripping with skepticism.

"Hey, Maggie?" Rick interjected with an airy chuckle. "I'll bring him back."

"Yeah... we both will." Harlow straightened up as the others turned to the petite girl. "I'm coming, too."

* * *

"Are you _sure_ this is a good idea?" Dale asked Harlow from the privacy of the side of the house, uniting in secrecy under the charcoal sky above.

"What're you implying, Dale?" Harlow spoke impassively as she adjusted the straps of her shoulder holster.

"I'm saying that with three able bodied members of the group gone, Rick being one of them, who knows what'll happen back here!" He exclaimed. "And... I worry about you. About all of you." He added the last part in a swift manner, perhaps to soften the blow of his true feelings.

"Dale, I can't just sit around here watching grass grow," Harlow muttered. "And besides, I feel like I have to make amends with Hershel... after what happened earlier today - I feel sick just thinking about it."

"As do I." Dale nodded his head. "It's good to know _someone_ still has a conscience left in this group."

"Speaking of which," Harlow rested her hands firmly against her hips. "I've been thinking, in regards to Shane... I think we should tell the others about what we know."

"Do you?" Dale raised his brows. "Is that really a good idea?"

"You're _damn_ right it is. I've been thinking long and hard about it... well, amongst other things," She cleared her throat. "From what I've learned, secrets are fucking _dangerous_, Dale, and something like this really shouldn't be ignored. Now, I'm not saying we get on our soapbox and start a witch hunt, but Lori and Rick should at least know, and they should hear it from _us_ rather than find out the hard way."

"Yeah... I see where you're coming from." Dale considered her for a moment before adding, "You have a point."

"I could tell Rick while we're out-"

"No!" Dale snapped, causing Harlow to reel back in surprise. "I just want you to focus on getting back to us. _Alive_."

"Okay... whatever you say." Harlow shrugged a shoulder. "I'll leave that up to you to figure out, then. Probably for the best, really." She added in an afterthought.

Dale offered her a crooked grin before clasping her shoulder with a firm grasp. "Be safe out there, all right? Don't do anything stupid. For my sake."

"I'll try my best. No promises, though." The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth before she turned to make her way towards the vehicle parked out front, where Rick was surely awaiting her arrival. However, the sight before brought a confused grimace as she stopped in her tracks.

Rick stood by the Cherokee, like she expected, but it was Daryl's presence that baffled her. The pair looked to be in a tense, heated discussion, yet the scene broke as quickly as she came across it as Daryl offered Rick an inclination of his head before stomping off towards the the open pastures behind him, the topic of their discussion now peaking her curiosity.


	10. Hope Leaves

**A/N: Happy Friday! :D**

**9 days until the new episode! And on February 15th, I'll be at "The Walking Dead Live" with Steven Yeun, Lauren Cohan, Greg Nicotero, and (last but not least) ****_Norman Reedus_****!**

**Song recommendation: "Hope Leaves" by Opeth.**

* * *

_"Gone through days without talking,  
There is a comfort in silence.  
So used to losing all ambition,  
Struggling to maintain what's left."_

Hope Leaves

"So... you're _not_ going to tell me what you and Daryl were talking about?" Harlow grumbled from the backseat of the Jeep Cherokee, her voice barely breaching the whirring engine of the vehicle as it sped through rural back roads.

"Sworn to secrecy, Harlow, I'm sorry." Rick exclaimed from the front seat, yet an amused grin was shot back at her from the reflection of the rear view mirror.

"_Horseshit_." Harlow slumped against the stiff cushioning, unable to contain her frustration. "You can tell me now."

"How about this," Rick began as the grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Once we find Hershel and get him back home, I'll tell you. You have my word."

"I'll hold you to it." She said, barely above a whisper, before the trio fell into an uncomfortable silence. The woes they had endured as a whole that day seemed to weigh heavy on the occupant's minds, Hershel's disappearance now added to the mix.

However, a terrifying thought tugged at the back of her own mind: What would happen to _them_ once they found Hershel? After the incident with the barn, would he _really_ allow them to stay, or would they be tossed out, left to fend for themselves? She shook her head as she attempted to force that very notion out of her mind, setting her thoughts on something else entirely, or someone, who had brought her to a peaceful state ever since saving her life in the woods: Daryl.

She couldn't begin to understand why the thought of him alone lulled her turbulent cerebrations into repose, and she made no attempt to try to understand it. She just allowed it to take over, feeling her worries wane into oblivion with each passing second her cogitations lingered on the callous redneck.

The silence stretched out for several long minutes until, finally, Glenn drew Harlow back to reality by blurting out, "Maggie said she loves me."

"Mm-hmm..." Rick shot a fleeting glance back at Harlow, his brows cocked as they shared a look of mild surprise.

"She doesn't mean it." Glenn let out a nervous laugh as the grip on his shotgun tightened. "I mean she _can't_. I mean - well, she's upset or confused... she's probably feeling like-"

"I think she's smart enough to know what she's feeling." Rick cut Glenn's stammering words short.

"No... no _no_, you know what? She wants to be in love, so sh-she needs something to, like, to hold onto."

"Glenn, it's pretty obvious to everyone Maggie loves you, and not just because you're one of the last men standing, so what's the problem?" Rick said, fighting to contain a burst of laughter.

"I didn't say it back." Glenn admitted.

"Huh." Rick considered the young man's words.

"I've never had a woman say that to me before, y'know? Except my mom, of course, an-and my sisters... but with Maggie, it's different. I mean, we barely know each other. What does she really know about me? _Nothing_... we're practically strangers... but I-I didn't know what to do with it. I just stood there like a _jerk_!"

"Hey. _Hey_, this is a good thing," Rick said with an air of optimism. "Something we don't get enough of these days. Enjoy it. And when we get back, return the favor. It's not like she's going anywhere!"

"Yeah," Harlow managed to chime in from the backseat. "Just don't tell her what you _just_ told us and you'll be golden."

"Crap, Harlow..." Glenn murmured.

The occupants in the cab returned to a silent state as the vehicle neared the vacant town, seemingly void of any life forms other than themselves. Rick cranked the steering wheel as the vehicle came to a steady halt in front of the line of shops. A sign that read "Hatlin's" hung suspended over their intended destination as Rick fumbled with the stick, shifting the vehicle into park and tearing the keys from the ignition.

"Rick...?" Glenn began in a wary manner. "I know about Lori... her being pregnant."

"_What_?!" Harlow blurted out as she leaned forward. This was a startling revelation to her.

"_Damnit_, Glenn!" Rick brought a hand towards his face, "I take it _Harlow_ didn't know, though."

"Oh crap!" Glenn's eyes widened in horror as his stammering fit returned. "I-I didn't mean - look, just forget I said anything-"

"Forget it. It's all right." Rick waved his hand as he turned his attention to Harlow. "Just, don't tell anyone, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah of course." Harlow nodded her head fervently, though the discovery of yet another secret was almost too much for the girl to bear.

"I just thought you'd want to know," Glenn murmured lamely. "I got her those pills..."

"Yeah, I figured." Rick said as he pushed the door open, getting out before shoving the seat forward, helping Harlow as she scrambled out through the same opening.

"I'm sorry I kept it from you, Rick." Glenn muttered as he filed out along with the others.

"Don't be," Rick gave him a reassuring nod of his head as he withdrew his Colt from the holster. "You did what you thought was right... just so happens it _wasn't_."

"What pills- you know what, forget it. I don't even want to know." Harlow waved her hand for the others to disregard as she reached for her own gun, thumbing with the mechanics. "Just... congratulations, Rick." She gave a hollow smile, yet within the depths of her being she felt it was a mistake. To bring a child into this world was just stupid to her.

"Thanks," Rick said as he cautiously padded towards the entrance to the bar. "We need to be careful about this... in case Hershel-"

"Don't say it." Harlow warned. She couldn't fathom hearing the end of his sentence.

_In case Hershel wasn't there._  
_In case Hershel was bit, or attacked by walkers._

The horrendous possibilities seemed endless to her. "Let's just... be smart about it, okay?"

"Okay, then." Rick nodded as if understanding her concerns. "Ready?"

Glenn and Harlow each gave him a brief nod as they held their guns firmly in their clutches.

Moving a free hand towards the double doors, he pushed them open with ease as the three of them moved with determined swiftness into the gloomy interior of the bar, spotting at once the familiar figure of Hershel, sitting alone with his back turned to the door.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Harlow hastened to close the doors behind them, instantly sending the room into a dim, tenebrous darkness.

"Hershel?" Rick called out warily.

"Who's with you?" The man called out in his trademark southern drawl.

"Glenn and Harlow."

"Maggie sent him?" The man chuckled as he referred to Glenn.

"He volunteered," Rick defended. "He's good like that."

"And what about the girl? Did she volunteer as well?" Hershel inquired as he craned his head to get a better look at the newcomers.

"We're _both_ good like that." Harlow called out as the trio stepped carefully through the shafts of dust motes. Glenn continued to glance back towards the entrance while Harlow felt her itch to drink insurmountable as she took in her surroundings.

It looked, to Rick and herself, that Hershel had that very same urge as he took a pull from his glass of liquor, an open bottle not far from reach. The stench of intoxication was thick in the air as the elder swayed precariously in the bar stool.

"How many have you had?" Rick inquired.

"Not _enough_." Hershel lamented as he he gazed down into the remains of his drink.

"Let's just finish this up back at home." Rick attempted to reason with the older man. "Beth collapsed, is in some sort of state. Must be in shock... I think you are too."

"Maggie's with her?" Hershel asked, voice slurred and eyes glazed.

"Yeah, but Beth needs you."

"What could I do? She needs her mother... or rather to mourn like she should've done weeks ago. I robbed her of that... I see that now."

Harlow took a careful seat next to Hershel, the broken visage of a man she had met days ago, as he took another pull from his drink. Holstering her Beretta, she frowned back at Glenn, who continued to clutch the shotgun in a guarded manner.

"You thought there was a cure," Rick handled his words carefully. "Can't blame yourself for holding out for hope."

_Hope_. There was that word again. Harlow rested her elbows against the grimy surface of the counter as she mulled that very concept over.

"Hope?" Hershel gave a haunted smirk as he turned to Rick. "When I first saw you running across my field with your boy in your arms, I had little hope he would survive-"

"But he did." Rick interjected.

"He did." Hershel repeated with a dip of his head. "Even though we lost Otis, your man Shane made it back, and we saved your boy." Hershel raised his line of sight upwards, to nothing in particular, as he recalled those memories. "That was the miracle that proved to me miracles do exist... only it was a sham, a bait and switch." A pause followed his words as a darkness passed over his features. "I was a fool, Rick, and you people saw that."

Rick's gaze met Harlow's as they wordlessly communicated, perhaps agreeing with his last sentence, or even remorseful at what their actions had driven this man to become.

"My daughters deserve better than that." And with that, Hershel finished the remains of his drink before reaching for the sooty bottle, ripping the cap off and dumping a hearty amount of liquor within the glass.

"Hershel," Harlow began, "I'm sorry for what happened today, more than anything, but you _can't_ do this to yourself. I mean really, do you think drinking yourself into a stupor is going to help any?"

"It'll help me _feel_ better." Hershel defended his actions as he took another swig of his topped off drink.

"Yeah, I bet it will." Harlow grumbled as she tore herself away from the bar and stomped past Glenn, making towards the exit. Jarring the door open, she took a sharp inhale of breath, allowing the clean air to fill her lungs, crisp and refreshing in comparison to the stale stench of the interior.

"This is pointless," Harlow hissed to Glenn as Rick soon joined the pair by the doors. "He's not coming willingly."

"So what, we just leave him?" Rick said under his breath.

"Oh God no," Harlow shook her head. "We came all this way. Let's just drag his ass back to the farm."

"That's not gonna happen." Rick shot down her idea, which Harlow immediately realized it was a shoddy one.

"So what do we do?" Glenn piped up. "Just wait for him to pass out?"

"Just go..." Hershel hollered out from the opposite side of the room. "Just _go_!"

"I promised Maggie I'd bring you home safe." Rick retorted, which brought a chuckle from the drunkard.

"Like you promised that little girl?"

Harlow turned to face Hershel, teeth clenched and eyes smoldering. Even Rick seemed unnerved by his words as he made haste back towards Hershel.

"So what's your plan? Finish that bottle? Drink yourself to _death_ and leave your girls alone?!"

The man slammed his glass down as he rose from his seat, wheeling towards the Deputy as he snarled out, "Stop telling me how to care for my family, my farm..." Taking a step towards Rick, he bellowed out, "You people are like a _plague_! I do the Christian thing, give you shelter, and you _destroyed it all_!" Waving his arms for emphasis, his words hit Harlow like a ton of bricks.

"The world was already in bad shape when we met-" Rick growled out as he swooped in, mere inches away from the older man's face.

"And you take no responsibility!" Hershel countered with a rising sense of anger, "You're supposed to be their _leader_!"

"Well I'm here now!" Rick barked. "Aren't I?!"

The two men stared each other down, and for a moment Harlow was worried of the outcome of their little argument Yet this soon passed as a wave of clarity swept over Hershel, the man staggering back as he said in mild disbelief, "Yes... yes. Yes you are." Spinning around, he made his way back towards the bar as he heaved himself onto the stool, the seat's legs creaking ominously under his weight. Harlow shot Glenn a look before stepping away from the doors, allowing them to close with a gentle clasp.

"Come on," Rick pleaded in a low voice as he followed Hershel, hovering over the distraught man as he took another sip of his drink. "Your girls need, you now more than ever." He made for Hershel's arm, yet the man pulled himself free from his grasp in an intoxicated flounder of movement.

"I didn't _want_ to believe you." Overcome with self-hate, Hershel spewed out, "You told me there was no cure, that these people were _dead_, not sick! I chose not to believe that! But when Shane shot Lou in the chest, and she just kept _coming_, that's when I knew what an ass i'd been, that Annette had been dead long ago, and I was feeding a _rotten corpse_!"

Harlow involuntarily scrunched her nose as she bowed her head, waves of guilt radiating from the man before her as he poured his soul out to them.

"That's when I knew there was no hope." Hershe's voice cracked from emotional affliction as he continued, "And when that little girl came out of the barn, the look on your face... I knew you knew it too... _right_?"

Rick's expression hardened at his words.

"There is no hope. And you know it now, like I do... don't you?" Hershel said, his voice gritty with defined sorrow. "There is no hope for any of us."

Rick shot a despondent glance towards the others, and for a moment Harlow thought that what Hershel said was true, that Rick had truly given up hope.

"Rick...?" Her voice croaked out, yet any words that were to follow fell way to her own grief, to her own hopelessness.

Rick shook his head, down to his last nerve, as he shot out, "Look, I'm done. I'm not doing this anymore, cleaning up after you." He waved a hand in exasperation as Glenn made cautious steps towards irritated man, Harlow following suit. "You know what the truth is? _Nothing_ has changed. Death is death. It's always been there, whether it's from a heart attack, cancer, or a walker. What's the difference? You didn't think it was hopeless before, did you?"

His question brought a heavy sigh from Hershel.

"And now there are people back at home trying to hang on. They need us, even if it's just to give them a reason to go on, even if we don't believe it ourselves!" Rick massaged his stubbled chin before pressing on, "You know what? This - this isn't about what we believe anymore. It's about _them_."

And as the group watched with bated breath, Hershel finished the last remnants of his drink before tipping the glass upside down, resting it atop the counter's filmy surface before making a motion to rise to his feet. Harlow released a sigh; Hershel was finally coming around. They would make it back to the farm before dark, and there they would pick up the pieces of what's left of their lives.

Shooting a glance at Glenn, they each regarded the other with a flicker of relief, yet this look was soon extinguished as the the doors to the bar opened, giving a howling creak as the silhouettes of two figures stood against the setting sun.

"Son of a bitch... they're _alive_."

_"Once undone, there is only smoke,_  
_Burning in my eyes to blind,_  
_To cover up what really happened._  
_Force the darkness unto me."_

_-Opeth, "Hope Leaves"_

* * *

**A/N: Now it's gonna start to get good...**


	11. Drink to the Dead

**A/N: Four days left until Walking Dead returns! Who has two thumbs and can't wait? This gal! Thanks to everyone for the follows, favorites, and kind reviews! :)  
Song recommendation: "Drink to the Dead" by Clutch.**

* * *

Drink to the Dead

"Son of a bitch... they're _alive_."

It took Harlow seconds to notice that her hand had involuntarily flinched towards her Beretta, gripping the ink-like handle with surprising vigor, before realization dawned upon her austere features; these two men weren't dead. Dead men sure as hell don't _talk_.

The others in her group had similar epiphanies as they stared, jaws unhinged in a dumbfounded manner, at the sight before them.

"Holy shit," The skinnier of the two men let out a hearty laugh as he crossed the threshold of the dingy bar. "We thought we heard voices, for a second I thought we were going goddamn screwy. Ain't that right?" He turned to his partner in crime, a portly gentleman with a tattered Gatsby cap atop his head. The husky individual let out an equally heavy chortle while following the man inside, their feet stamping against the floor beneath as the door swung shut behind them.

Silence resonated from the other side of the bar. Harlow and the others did nothing but watch the advancing duo in a wordless trance.

"Don't talk much, huh?" The man quipped as he took a seat at one of the nearby tables, leaning back comfortably as he eyed the group with an air of amusement.

"Sorry," Rick immediately apologized, finally finding his voice. "You just caught us off guard, is all. It's been a while since we've seen others... _living_ people, if you will."

"I hear you, man." As the slimmer fellow spoke, the beefier one took a seat at the counter connecting with the one Hershel, Rick, Glenn and Harlow were huddled around. "Too many of those dead things walking around, strange to think they actually outnumber _us_, now."

"A damn shame," The paunchy man lamented, adjusting the waist of his pants.

"How about a drink? Seems like we could all use one!" The other man proposed.

"I'm game," Glenn chimed in, visibly relaxed in the company of the two men. Rick seemed to echo his mood as he reached for the bottle of liquor that Hershel was nursing moments ago, producing several shot glasses from behind the counter before he began passing them out to the others. Harlow, however, refused with a wave of her hand, ignoring the ache for the contents of the bottle. She felt that at least one individual should remain frosty.

"I'm Dave, by the way," The skinnier man said once a shot glass was placed before him, filled to the brim with amber liquid. "That scrawny-looking douche bag there is Tony."

"Eat me, Dave." Tony gave his friend a giddy chuckle as he leaned his large frame back against the counter.

"Hey, maybe someday I will." Dave cleverly slipped in before continuing, "We met on I-95, coming out of Philly. Damn shit-show that was."

"Harlow, over there, is from Philadelphia." Rick explained, nodding his head towards the blonde woman. The mention of her name made her jerked from her rigid state.

"That so?" Dave leaned forward, his interest visibly peaked. "Where at in Philly, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Center city," Harlow said curtly, as if that would be enough to satiate his curiosity.

"That's cool. Crazy to meet someone else from up north!" Dave chuckled. "Did you grow up in Philly?"

"I don't think that really matters." Harlow said, feeling content with watching the man's cheery exterior wane.

"How so?"

"None of what we were before all this means a damn thing now. All you need to know is that I'm here - _we're_ here, alive."

"Touche." Dave inclined his head, and the matter was settled.

"I'm Glenn. It's nice to meet some new people." Glenn grinned broadly. He leaned forward from behind the edge of the bar's counter, clearly disregarding Harlow's cold demeanor.

"Rick Grimes," Rick introduced himself while moving back towards the bar, not so blind to Harlow's attitude as he shot her a look while passing a glass to Glenn and Tony.

"How about you, pal? Have one?" Dave inquired to Hershel, who sat with his barren glass.

"I just quit," Hershel explained in a slow manner.

"You've got a unique sense of timing, my friend," Dave smirked before turning to Harlow. "How about you, sweetheart? Looks like you could use a drink or two."

_Sweetheart_?! Harlow involuntarily narrowed her eyes as she folded her arms firmly in front of her chest, snapping waspishly, "It's Harlow. And I'm good."

While the others began to warm up to the newcomers, Harlow remained heedful, giving the man a harsh stare as if wordlessly expressing, "_I'm watching you_."

"That's Hershel," Rick ignored the exchange between the two as he nodded towards the older man, "He lost people today, a lot of them."

"I'm truly sorry to hear that," Dave bowed his head in a sincere expression of emotions before raising his glass, glancing towards the others. "To better days and new friends... and to our dead. May they be in a better place."

The others raised their own drinks in reverence to his words before they collectively drained their glasses in a single gulp. Harlow felt a slight twinge of envy, almost imagining the burning liquid streaming down her own gullet.

As Dave leaned to set his empty shot glass onto the table, a dulled gleam from the waist of his jeans caught Harlow's eye. She and Rick each stared at the handle of a handgun, poking out from his clothing. Dave seemed to notice their line of sight as he withdrew the weapon, holding it out for them to fully inspect it.

"Not bad, huh?" Dave said while running grimy fingers along the barrel. "I got it off a cop."

"I'm a cop." Rick admitted bluntly.

"This one was already dead." Dave explained, his lips drawing back in a thin smile, though his warm gesture failed to travel towards his cold eyes. Harlow took note of his knavish grin as she chanced a glance at Tony, who seemed to give Rick a look of cloaked deceit. The others appeared blind to this as they each gave a smirk in return, seemingly satisfied with his response.

"You fellas are a long way from Philadelphia." Rick spoke out after a moment of terse silence.

"It feels like we're a long way from _anywhere_!" Dave exclaimed, appearing eager to veer the subject away from the dead cop's gun.

"Well, what drove you south?" Rick inquired before draining the remains of his drink into his mouth.

"Well, I can tell you it wasn't the weather." Dave brought a hand towards his face as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I must've dropped thirty pounds in sweat alone down here."

"I wish," Tony muttered in a gritty tone. Harlow bit her tongue, fighting back a graceless retort in regards to his weight while the others gave a low chuckle.

"No, first it was D.C.," Dave began. "Heard there might be some kind of refugee camp, but the roads were so jammed we never even got close. We decided to get off the highways, into the sticks, keep hauling ass. Every group we came across had a new rumor about a way out of this thing."

"One guy told us there was the coast guard sitting in the gulf, sending ferries to the islands." Tony chimed in.

"The latest was a rail yard in Montgomery running trains to the middle of the country - Kansas, Nebraska-"

"Nebraska?" Glenn cut Dave off with a baffled look.

"Low population... lots of _guns_." Tony said with eyes wide in giddiness at the very notion.

"Kinda makes sense." Glenn murmured, bobbing his head in a respectful nod.

"Ever been to Nebraska, kid?" Dave questioned with an air of amusement. "A reason they call 'em 'flyover states'."

As Tony wheezed in laughter, Harlow couldn't help but smirk at his comment, almost failing to notice a shared glance between the two men. She felt her grin slide off of her face as they communicated with unspoken words, Dave's features brimming with guile as he piped up, "How about you guys?"

"Fort Benning... eventually." Rick answered.

"I hate to piss in your cornflakes, officer, but... um, we ran across a grunt who was stationed at Benning. He said the place was overrun by lamebrains."

_...Overrun by lamebrains..._

Disbelief was etched upon Rick's lineaments. His look alone sent Harlow's heart plummeting into the darkest depths of her being, his facial features said what words could not; Fort Benning was his last hope in finding lasting sanctuary for the others, and Dave had just annihilated his reverie with his tidbit of information.

"Wait, Fort Benning is _gone_?" Glenn asked incredulously. "Are you for real?!"

"Sadly, I am." Dave bowed his head in acknowledgement of their dismay. "Oddly, the truth is, there is no way out of this mess. Just keep going from one pipe dream to the next, praying one of these mindless freaks doesn't grab a hold of you when you sleep-"

"_If_ you sleep," Tony rectified.

"Yeah..." Dave tossed a glance around the dusky room. "It doesn't look like you guys are hanging your hats here. You holed up somewhere else?"

Harlow chanced a glance at Rick, who remained taut for a long moment before fibbing through pursed lips, "Not really." She chomped down on her lower lip, wondering if he felt something was off about these men, if he had seen the looks they gave to each other as well.

"Those your cars out front?" Dave questioned while thrusting a thumb behind him.

"Yeah... why?" Glenn's voice broke through the tense air.

"We're living in ours," Dave began. "Those look kinda empty... clean. Where's all your gear?"

"We're with a larger group," Hershel confessed. "Out scouting, thought we could use a drink."

"A drink?" Dave said in amusement, "Hershel, I thought you quit!"

"He's done drinking," Harlow found her voice. "I think we _all_ are, to be honest." She shot the others a look as if daring them to protest.

"Well hang on," Dave cut in before anyone else had a chance to reply. "We're thinking of setting up around here. Is it safe?"

"It can be," Glenn said, "Although I _have_ killed a couple of walkers around here."

"_Walkers_? Is that what you call them?" Dave chuckled in merriment. "That's good. I like that. I like that better than _lamebrains_."

"More succinct," Tony added in agreement with Dave.

"Okay, Tony went to college-"

"Two years."

Awkward grins were passed around before Dave continued, "So what, you guys set up on the outskirts or something? That new development? Trailer park or something?"

Tony heaved himself out of his seat and waddled past the others, shooting Harlow a mischievous wink. She grimaced in distaste as she sidled sideways in an attempt to put distance between herself and the paunchy gentleman.

"A farm?"

Dave gave the others a roguish grin, his accurate hunch chilling Harlow to her very core. Even Rick seemed unnerved by this, glancing her way with a wary look.

_"Old McDonald had a farm..."_ Dave's haunting rendition of the childhood tune made Harlow's insides churn. "You got a farm?"

Tony chortled to the right of her, followed by the faint sound of trickling liquid against the dusty floor below. As she turned to look at the source of the noise, she was immediately repulsed to find the man, with his back turned to the others, urinating on the floor in full view.

_"E-I-E-I-O..."_ Tony's slurred singing, along with the stench of waste matter wafting in her direction, was enough to make Harlow's skin crawl. "Is it safe?" He inquired as he propped his arm against the wooden beam in front of him.

"It's gotta be," Dave replied, lurching forward in morbid curiosity. "You got food, water?"

"You got cooze, at least!" Tony giggled while continuing to unload his bladder. "Ain't had a piece of ass in _weeks_." He turned his head and shot the revolted girl an insinuating grin. Harlow's mouth hung open, preparing to verbally lash out at the man, yet his comrade's words silenced her almost immediately.

"Listen, pardon my friend," Dave directed an apology towards Harlow's seething features as he brought a hand towards his face, massaging his temple. "City kids - they got no tact. No disrespect." Lowering his hand, he turned to Glenn and pressed on. "So listen, Glenn-"

"We've said enough." Rick cut his words short as he raised his chiseled features, glaring down at the man before him.

"Well, hang on a second." Dave piped up. "This farm, it sounds pretty sweet. Don't it sound sweet, Tony?"

"Yeah, _real_ sweet." Tony agreed as he finished his business, pivoting his large frame to face the others, content in standing in his own filth.

"How about a little southern hospitality," Dave proposed. "We got some buddies back at camp, been having a real hard time... I don't see why you can't make room for a few more. We can pool our resources, our manpower-"

"_Some buddies back at camp._.." Harlow thought to herself. "_So there's more of these assholes_?"

"Look, I'm sorry. That's not an option." Rick remained steadfast, Glenn and Hershel each giving a grave look towards the city men. Tony's beady eyes widened as he shot Dave a look of surprise, his friend shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Doesn't _sound_ like it'd be a problem." He persisted.

"Well, it is." Harlow put it bluntly.

"I'm sorry, we can't." Hershel apologized in a softer manner.

"We can't take in any more." Rick said, backing Hershel's own words.

Dave let out a mournful chuckle, "You guys are something else. I thought - I thought we were _friends_. We got people we gotta look out for."

"So do we," Harlow said in a low tone, and she meant every bit of it. The group back at the farm meant more to her than any living asshole out there, regardless of the short time she spent with them. They were the last living souls left in this corrupted world worth living for.

Some more than others, she realized at that moment, as the image of Daryl's surly features surfaced in the back of her mind.

"She's right. Plus, we don't know anything about you." Rick shook his head.

"No, that's true... you don't know _anything_ about us." The words that proceeded from Dave's lips made Harlow's insides writhe. "You don't know what we've had to go through out there... things we've had to _do_... I bet you've had to do some of those same things yourself, am I right?"

Silence passed as Rick and Dave shared a long, harsh gaze.

"'Cause ain't nobody's hands clean in what's left of this world," Dave continued. "We're all the same. So come on, let's... let's take a nice friendly hayride to this farm and we'll get to know each other." Dave offered with a frigid grin, his patience visibly wearing down. Harlow was worried, while Rick glanced down at his shot glass, that he would cave into his persistent requests.

"That's not gonna happen." Rick finally spoke, to her immense relief.

"This is _bullshit_!" Tony exclaimed from his spot to the right of them, unable to keep up with the friendly facade as it crumbled, revealing his true nature.

"Calm down." Rick snarled through gritted teeth, his own mask of good will fading into the stale air.

"Don't tell me to 'calm down'," Tony lashed out, his voice elevated. "Don't _ever_ tell me to 'calm down'!"

"Woah!" Glenn emitted as Rick swiftly rose to his feet.

"I'll shoot you three assholes in the head, take your bitch _and_ your damn farm!"

Tony had gone too far. In one sweeping motion, Harlow straightened up and began bellowing obscenities at the man who had just threatened the members of her group.

"The fuck did this cocksucker just say?" Harlow cried out in outrage, her garbled swears finally forming a coherent string of words. "The_ fuck did you just say_?!"

"You heard me," Tony thrusted a finger in her direction, "I'll bullet bang the fuck outta you too, you smart-mouthed cunt-"

"Woah woah _woah_! Relax!" Dave jumped to his feet, holding a hand out towards the others in an attempt to contain the rapidly escalating scene. "Take it easy! Nobody's killing anybody, and nobody's_ bullet banging_ anyone, either!" He gave Rick a pat on his shoulder before hopping across the counter connecting to the one Hershel and Glenn were sitting at. Harlow's narrowed gaze remained fixed on Tony as the two of them continued to glower at each other.

"Nobody's shooting anybody. Right, Rick?" Dave implored as he straightened up behind the counter, turning to face the man he had just addressed.

Harlow realized, as she tore her sights from Tony, that Rick was standing in between the two men. She was transfixed in horror at the sight, feeling as helpless as Glenn and Hershel, who stood stationary in place. Dave held a hand up as he reached behind him with the other, retrieving his firearm and placing it against the counter before him.

"We're just friends having a drink. That's all." Dave clapped his hands together before musing out loud, "Now, where's the good stuff, huh? Good stuff, good stuff, good stuff..."

Harlow chanced a glance behind her; the look of fear in Glenn and Hershel's eyes brought a terse nod from the girl, as if silently communicating that everything was going to be all right.

"_Was it, though_?" She thought helplessly to herself. Even the thought of Daryl couldn't calm her rattled nerves.

As Dave ducked behind the counter, Rick made a motion for his holstered gun, which did not go unnoticed as Dave slowly rose back into view, holding up a bottle of liquor with a flourish. "Hey, look at that!" He unscrewed the cap before scanning the area for an empty glass.

"You gotta understand," Dave said, beginning to pour himself another helping, "We can't stay out there. You know what it's like."

"Yeah, I do." Rick gave a stiff nod. "But the farm is too crowded as is. I'm sorry. You'll have to keep looking."

"Keep looking," Dave repeated in a hollow manner, his smile falling into a serious grimace. "Where do you suggest we do that?"

"I don't know." Rick shrugged as he croaked out, "I hear Nebraska's nice."

This brought an amused chuckle from Dave while Tony remained adamantly still behind the two men. Movement regained, Harlow felt her hand flex involuntarily towards her holstered gun. The moment for action drew closer with each passing second, so thick in the air that it was almost tangible.

"Nebraska..." The last notes of Dave's laughter faded into memory as a stony expression took hold of his features. "This guy."

A series of events unfolded before their eyes in the split second that followed Dave's words. The man made a hastened motion towards his firearm, yet Rick was faster. In the time that Dave grasped hold of his gun, Rick had already found and raised his own as a gunshot reverberated throughout the dimly lit room.

They would remember the red rosette of blood and brain matter blooming from the back of Dave's head as it splattered against the mirror behind him, the man dead before his body hit the ground. They would also remember how Rick, in one fluid motion, swung around and took aim at the bovine of a man, who fumbled with his own effects before having two bullets placed into his beefy chest. The man howled in agony as his shotgun exploded, the single round breaching the ceiling above as he slid to the ground, painting the wall behind him in scarlet streaks.

Yet there was confusion etched deep in Rick's features; he squeezed the trigger of his revolver only once in Tony's direction, not twice.

His attention jerked towards Harlow, who had her own gun raised on the man, breathing heavily as her arms shook from the aftermath of the recoil. The second bullet had come from her Beretta, in a last minute decision on her part.

Squinting his eyes, Rick advanced towards Tony, who wheezed in anguish, and fired off a third round, this time burrowing the bullet deep into the man's skull, silencing him once and for all as he slid sideways towards the ground in a broken heap. Shooting a glance at the others, Rick holstered his gun, and gave each of them a somber grimace.

Harlow noticed, as she lowered her handgun, that there was a glaring difference in the man's expression. She found, as he locked his gaze with her own, that there was a detached look in his blue eyes, remorseless and severe in nature. Yet there was something familiar about his appearance, and she knew, deep down, she felt the same as he did.

Harlow had never attempted to shoot another living being before that night, and now, as she stood over the bullet riddled body of Tony, she felt little remorse for her actions. She wondered if it was her humanity that slowly waned into the darkness surrounding them, but it couldn't be; she never felt more human than she did at that moment, to feel such affection for a group of survivors she hardly knew. She would do anything to protect these people, and endure worse for them.

"Who's bullet banged _now_, Tony?" She snarled under her breath.


	12. Bloodhounds on my Trail

**A/N: Happy Friday! Only a couple more days until new Walking Dead! In anticipation for the newest episode, I shoved out this chapter for you all! :) Let me know what you think!**

**Song recommendation: "Bloodhounds on my Trail" By The Black Angels. Norman Reedus advertised one of their songs on his twitter, and it it weren't for that I would have never heard of this band!**

* * *

Bloodhounds on my Trail

"Holy shit..."

Glenn's words rang out over the dulled silence as he stepped closer to the still body before Rick and Harlow, Hershel following closely behind. There they stood, examining the lifeless mass, for a moment that felt like an eternity. Harlow swallowed hard, her mouth parched, as she felt the muscles in her limbs tremble from the aftermath of the shoot out.

"You all right?" Rick croaked out, his attention directed towards Glenn.

"Y-yeah." The younger man gave a meek nod of his head.

"Hershel?" Rick now turned to the older man, who seemed rattled by the events that took place moments earlier. Nothing was uttered past weathered lips, which was enough of a reply for Rick as he shifted his gaze towards the girl.

"Harlow?"

"I'm fine." In truth, Harlow felt nothing. No relief, no remorse, just a hollow emptiness where her emotions should have been.

They each looked to each other, hoping for a clue as to where to go from there. It was Hershel who spoke up, giving a shaky bob of his head.

"Let's head back."

Everyone seemed to be in unspoken agreement to this, most of all Harlow. After everything that happened that day, she wanted nothing more than to return to the farm, to see the others, to see Daryl...

Rick hunched over the paunchy carcass as he rifled through the dead man's pockets, retrieving a handful of shells with one hand and the long forgotten shotgun with the other before straightening back up. Something else fell out of the corpse's pockets as Rick withdrew from him; a tattered pack of cigarettes laid out in the open, beckoning to Harlow.

Newport 100s. Not her particular vice, but they would do.

Without a moment's hesitation, she crouched low and swiped the pack off of the ground, stowing it into her back pocket before rising to her feet. Rick gave her a reproving look, frowning inwardly at her actions, before stepping towards the door, lead by Hershel. Glenn, who had gone to Dave's deceased form, rejoined the others, brandishing the man's handgun.

As Harlow glimpsed out of the windows and into the darkened streets beyond, a flash of light bloomed through the filmy glass, followed by the distinct sound of a humming engine and screeching tires of an approaching vehicle.

Terror befell the awe struck girl. There were others, of _course_ there were others, and they were coming.

"Get down!" Rick hissed as he rushed to the front of the room, crouching low to the ground as he pressed his back against the dreary wall next to the double doors. The others immediately followed suit, mimicking the former cop as they attempted to hide from view. Harlow swore under her breath, taking her place next to Rick and involuntarily reaching for her gun.

The distant sound of doors opening and slamming shut reached their ears as the engine ceased its roaring, followed by frantic calls from the occupants of the vehicle.

_"Dave? Tony?"_

"Fuck!" Harlow groaned, thrusting the back of her head against the wall behind her. This group was with the now deceased Dave and Tony, and as she reflected on the events that transpired moments earlier, this group was sure to be as goddamn dangerous as they were.

_"They said over here?"_

_"Yeah,"_ A second voice joined the first.

_"I'm telling you, man, I heard shots."_ A third member of the outside group vocalized in anxiousness.

_"I saw roamer two streets over. Might be more around here..."_

Rick clenched his jaw tightly shut as he gave the others a look of apprehension. Dealing with these shit-eaters would be hard enough, Harlow thought heavily, yet walkers on top of all this? Getting out of town _now_ would be a magnificent feat.

_"Dave! Tony!"_ The voice called out again, growing closer as the sound of footsteps reached their ears.

_"Shut up, you idiot! You wanna attract 'em?!"_ Another man lashed out. _"Just stick close, we're gonna find 'em."_

Harlow chanced a glance towards the door, and immediately felt her insides reel in consternation. The silhouettes of the men were visible through the tainted glass panel, yet the outline of their withdrawn shotguns seemed more harrowing to her than anything else.

_"Dude, he said to stay close."_

The figure closest to the door moved past, out of sight, as Harlow let out a strained sigh. Silence engulfed the caliginous room as Rick and Glenn each chanced a glance outside.

"They're still there..." Rick whispered before slinking over to Glenn and Hershel, huddled together on the opposite side of the entrance. Harlow swiftly hastened towards them as well, keeping her head low and gun firmly in her clutches.

"Why won't they leave?!" Glenn murmured in frustration.

"Would you?" Hershel retorted, his voice barely audible over the heavy breathing of the others.

"We can't sit here any longer." Glenn hissed desperately.

"Let's head out the back and make a run for the car," Rick declared in a hushed tone.

"What happens if they see us?!" Harlow's voice was strained as she shot a wild gaze at the others.

"We don't have much choice." Rick replied quietly. Biting her lower lip, she gave a forced nod of her head. As they began their low crawl to the back of the room, the distant sound of gunshots quelled their advances as they immediately retreated back to their original places, hunkering down by the entrance.

"Goddamnit!" Harlow mouthed, the distant voices returning.

_"What happened?"_

_"Roamers, I nailed 'em."_

_"They disappeared, but their car's still there."_

_"I cleared those buildings. You guys get this one?"_

_"We're looking for Dave and Tony and no one checks the damn bar?!"_

As the clomping of footsteps grew louder, Harlow felt her arms raise with purpose, gun pointed at the entrance, as the doors began to sway open. To her surprise, it was Glenn who lunged forward and threw himself against the entrance, thrusting the doors back shut.

_"...What?"_

_"Someone pushed it shut!"_

_"There's someone in there."_

Harlow gave Glenn a scorching look as the voices now addressed the group inside.

_"Yo, if someone's in there, we don't want no trouble! We're just looking for our friends!"_

_"What do we do?"_

_"Bum rush the door?"_

_"No, we don't know how many are there. Just relax."_

_"We don't want any trouble! We're just looking for our friends..."_

Harlow cast a glance towards the bodies of Dave and Tony, the grip on her Beretta tightening with each passing second.

_"If something happened, tell us... this place is crawling with corpses. If you can help us not get killed, I'd appreciate it!"_

_"Dude, you're bugging. I'm telling you, nobody's in there."_

_"Someone guard the door if they're in there, they might know where Dave and Tony are."_

Harlow felt beads of sweat streak down her face, making no motion to wipe the moisture away, and even ignored the mild stinging as a droplet merged with the moisture in her left eye.

Suddenly, to her unmitigated horror, another voice breached the stale air, this time issuing from Rick as he cried out, "They drew on us!"

She felt her arms, as heavy as lead, drop back to her side as Hershel gave Rick a look of blistering outrage.

_"Dave and Tony in there?"_ The outside voice called out. _"They alive?"_

"No." Rick gave a one-worded deplorable explanation.

"Fuck, Rick..." Harlow sibilated.

_"They killed Dave and Tony."_

_"Come on, man, let's go."_

_"No, I'm not leaving. I'm not telling Jane. I'm not gonna go back and tell them that Dave and Tony got shot by some assholes in a bar-"_

"Your friends drew on us!" Rick blared, thrusting his finger out for emphasis. "They gave us no _choice_!" His voice grew more agonizing with each shout, Harlow fearing that his vocal chords would shred from the sheer magnitude that issued forth. "I'm sure we've all lost enough people, done things we wish we didn't have to, but it's like that now. You know that! So let's just chalk this up to what it was, wrong place, wrong ti-"

His words were cut short as a booming shot blasted through the front door, raining shards of glass upon Glenn as it blew a gaping hole through the panel. The others cowered as Rick swiftly rose to his feet, aiming through the fracture and firing off his own weapon.

"Get outta here!" Rick bellowed to the others. "_Go_!"

Wasting no time, Harlow jumped to her feet and vaulted for the back of the room, but not before grasping a handful of Glenn's shirt, pulling him away and forward with great force. She ducked as the fusillade of bullets collided where her lean frame lingered seconds before, splinters of wood exploding about like a morbid fireworks show. While Glenn scampered behind an antique piano and Hershel took cover behind a wall, Harlow threw herself behind the bar's counter, ignoring the whirring sound of stray bullets missing her by mere inches.

Collapsing onto the worn wood flooring, she held her Beretta to her breast as she chanced a glance towards Hershel, his weathered features hardened, yet void of any fear as he slid a shotgun towards Glenn's cringing frame. The young man grappled with the firearm as he pressed himself further against the back of the piano, serving as a makeshift barrier between him and the barrage of bullets.

As the hail of gunfire ceased, Harlow craned her head around her hiding place and gazed imploringly at Rick, who, like the others, seemed to be grappling with the rapidly escalating scenario.

"Hey!" Rick finally called out as he dumped the spent bullets onto the floor before gathering them with frantic haste. "We all know this is _not_ gonna end well!" He continued to shout as he worked on reloading his pistol, "There's nothing in it for any of us! You guys just - just _back off_, and no one else gets hurt!"

The audible clicking of his weapon was heard first before the unmistakable sound of shattering glass echoed in one of the distant rooms. A terrifying realization grabbed hold of Harlow: someone was breaking in.

With trembling hands, she watched as Rick jerked his head towards Glenn, silently demanding that he go investigate the source of noise. The young man let out a low sigh before he scrambled to his feet and bolted for the back door.

Yet Harlow wasn't about to let him go by himself.

Brandishing her handgun and ignoring Rick's protests for her to "stay put", Harlow tore off after Glenn, who reeled in surprise at her sudden appearance.

"What're you-"

"Not letting you have all the fun," She quipped before urging him onward with an anxious nudge. The man let out a deep exhale of breath before cracking the door open, poking the barrel of his gun through first before stepping into the dank interior of the room, Harlow in close pursuit.

As Harlow's eyes adjusted to their gloomy surroundings, she found this room, at one point, served as a storage place for various odds and ends. Shelving units lined one side of the room, ladened with supplies, while the other furnished broader items. Everything was cloaked in a thick layer of dust, undisturbed and left to decay.

"Did I mention I was afraid of the dark?" Glenn whimpered as he held the shotgun close, descending the stairs into the room. The rickety steps creaked with each advancement from the duo, bringing an agonizing wince from her comrade.

"Stop it," Harlow hissed, "I've got your back, _muchacho_."

"Gracias... I guess."

It seemed apparent to Harlow, with each passing second, that the room was vacant, save for the two of them. The doors on the opposite side of the room remained closed, no sign of any break in.

"Maybe we just imagined it?" Glenn murmured desperately. Harlow furrowed her brows, and for a moment she thought he was correct, yet fear propelled her heart into a thumping spree as she noticed a set of footprints imprinted on the sullied floor below, ones that did not match hers or Glenn's. Stopping short, she allowed her gaze to follow them as they lead her attention to her immediate left, spotting a broken heap of glass.

"Glenn... get the fuck out of here-"

Her words were cut short as a menacing figure bloomed out from the darkness, advancing on her at an alarming pace. The blurred outline of a pistol was visible as the intruder took aim at Glenn and fired, the single blast vibrating against the dreary walls as her partner folded to the ground, his slumped form still and unmoving.

_"Glenn!"_

Fear would have paralyzed any person in that situation, yet Harlow found new vigor as she flung herself upon the prowler with blinding purpose. The man, by the sound of his garbled cries, crashed onto the floor, his pistol flung from his hands before he could put it to terrible use. Harlow was upon his massive frame within seconds, straddling his waist as she jammed the barrel of her own gun against his temple.

"You fucked with the _wrong_ bitch."

Yet before her finger flexed against the trigger, his hulking fist found the curve of her cheek as he struck her with an almighty force, so hard that she bit through her tongue. Her head whiplashed, stars dotting her line of sight as she tumbled edgeways, splaying against her side as she felt the handle of her gun slip through slackened fingers.

The figure, cloaked in darkness, loomed over her vulnerable frame as she attempted to roll away, yet the steel toe of his boots drove deep into her ribs, tossing her sideways. Pain stabbed her midsection as she wheezed, the man now dropping his weight upon her as he drove another fist into her face.

"You fucking cocksuckers killed them..." The man's voice growled, his voice barely audible against the throbbing pain as his putrid breath hit her senses. "You _killed_ them!"

She let out a desperate cry, the man's blazing eyes flashing through the crepuscule as she laid there, wounded and helpless against his merciless onslaught. The man reached for something to his side, yet all Harlow could do was swallow the metallic taste of blood as she whimpered into the dark encrusted room, bracing for whatever was to come.

A glint of metal passed her line of sight as she attempted to jerk her head to the side, yet her movement came too late as a searing pain overcame her senses, more blinding than anything she had ever experienced before. She gave a howling shriek, feeling her vocal chords shred, as the physical agony started from the corner of the right side of her mouth and arced upwards, stopping an inch away from the lobe of her ear in a deep, jagged incision.

The man raised the gleaming object that did the damage, a keen-edged hunting knife, sullied with the girl's blood, as he prepared to drive it downwards to silence the woman once and for all. However, the cracking of a nearby gun quelled his motion as the round vaporized the man's skull. Scarlet matter splashed across Harlow's vulnerable frame as the figure teetered to the ground, slumping over her as he laid as motionless and dead as his two friends in the neighboring room.

"Oh my god, Harlow..." Glenn voice cried out as the girl sprawled supine, writhing in agony.

"Glenn," She clutched the side of her face, soaked with thick, scarlet liquid as the familiar figure hovered over her, unharmed, yet visibly rattled, holding the shotgun that did the deed. "Oh thank _God_ you're all right."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" He whimpered while forcing the heaping mass of the freshly dead man off of her. "He shot at me a-and I froze... my God, I'm so sorry!"

"I'm fine!" Harlow stammered, her eyes welling with tears from blinding anguish as Glenn helped her to her feet. She staggered, grasping at her throbbing rib cage with a free hand while the other clutched Glenn's shoulder for dear life. "_Christ_, I think I busted a rib."

"Holy shit, Harlow... your _face_." Glenn breathed.

"Don't! I don't want to think about it..." She felt a sticky warmth ooze forth from her facial laceration, yet she attempted to shake it off as she forced the pain from her mind. Now was not the time to succumb to her wounds. The others needed her, and the group back at the farm needed _them_.

As she hunched low to retrieve her fallen gun, another clamor of sound seemed to issue from the other side of the door at the far end of the room, opposite of where they first came from. Glenn, with furrowed brows, raised the barrel of his firearm and fired, obliterating the glass panel. He reached for Harlow and drove her to her knees in an attempt to shield her from whatever they had in retaliation, yet nothing came.

_"Glenn! Harlow!"_ Rick's frantic voice called out from the neighboring room.

"We're all right!" Harlow managed with a wince. "We're fine!"

"Harlow's hurt!" Glenn cried. "One of them came at us! We need to get the hell out of here!"

Silence followed his words, save for a rustle of sound from the opposite side of the breached door. Glenn breathed heavily through his nose as he raised the shotgun, speaking through clenched teeth, "There's someone out there."

Harlow staggered to her feet, slightly hunched, as she held her Beretta within blood stained hands. She peered around his shoulder and out the hole that his gunshot created, disquiet befalling her bruised and butchered face.

The pair was so enthralled with the sight that they failed to notice the pattering of footsteps from behind. It was the slow, steady breathing of a third person that made Harlow wheel around in surprise, Glenn mimicking her motion as he brandished his weapon.

Hershel staggered back at their raised weapons with a wary look in his weathered eyes.

"Sorry. _Sorry_." Glenn murmured as Hershel pushed the barrel of the gun out of his face before his hooded eyes turned to Harlow, glancing between her mangled face and the corpse of the man who caused it all.

"I'm tagging you out, Harlow. Go back to Rick while we-"

"No way." Harlow shook her head furiously. "No fucking way, I'm not stopping for a little cut-"

"That's _more_ than a little cut," Hershel's words silenced her own. "Now, you'll do as I tell you. That, or stay out of our way." The older man lowered his head as he studied the girl before him, almost as if he were daring her to contest this. Harlow's arrhythmic intakes of breath slowed as she conceded, stumbling towards the side of the room, yet refusing to leave.

"Now, Glenn," Hershel started as he directed his attention to the younger man. "Rick wants you to try for the car."

"_Try_?!" Glenn blurted out.

"You'll try, and _succeed_." The older man held up a blackened handgun. "I'll cover you."

Harlow's features blanched. "You can shoot?"

"I don't like to, but I can." Hershel confessed.

"Looks like you're gonna have to start liking it." Harlow spit a mouthful of scarlet onto the sullied floor below. "Welcome to this shithole we live in. Glad to have you finally on board."

"We'll have time for sarcastic banter later," Hershel snapped. "Right now, Glenn, we need to move. And fast."

Glenn grumbled inaudibly before moving towards the door, Hershel close at his heels. The younger man let out a slow exhale of breath before thrusting the double doors open, bracing for the onslaught that was sure to come once they exited the building.

Silence followed as Glenn edged past the doors and out of her line of sight. Harlow licked her lips, sticky with blood, as she felt a foreboding feeling well up within. She was rendered useless, and it bothered the living hell out of her, more so than the twinge of pain she felt radiating throughout her body.

Her desire to help reached its climax as a fusillade of gunshots echoed from outside the room. Hershel leaned outwards, raising his black pistol, and fired off a single shot. The target was hit as the distant wails of an unknown man rang out, reaching the terrified girl's ears.

She shambled through the dust motes, joining Hershel by the ajar doors as she saw the distant figure writhe on the ground to the left, a gaping hole placed in his abdomen by Hershel's round.

"Nice shooting." Harlow breathed, yet felt fear grab hold of her as she turned to the right; Glenn's slumped form was hidden behind a dumpster, the only thing visible happened to be his lower extremities, unmoving and eerily still as his sneakers stuck out amongst the dreary scene.

"No... no no _no_!" Harlow hissed. "Fuck, Glenn! _Fuck_! Not again!"

Footsteps scuffled behind the pair as Rick's familiar frame soon joined them, eyes wide in his own terror.

"What happened?!"

"He fired." Hershel explained woefully before turning his gaze to the right. "He must've hit Glenn. He's behind the dumpster... doesn't look like he's moving."

Without a moment's hesitation, Rick weaved past Harlow and Hershel and stepped into the narrow alleyway, sidling down the brick wall with varying guns pointed on either side of him. The mucousy wails of the injured man added emphasis to the dire situation.

"You hit?" Rick hissed out to Glenn, yet no answer was given. Harlow felt her throat constrict, her face twisted in both physical and emotional agony. If he was hit - if he was _dead_, she couldn't help but feel that it would somehow be her fault.

"Are you hit?!" Rick repeated again, inching closer to the trash bins that shrouded the younger man.

"No... no." A distant voice whispered out, one that was familiar to Harlow. She let out a slow exhale of breath as waves of relief crashed over her.

Glenn was all right.

Rick disappeared from view, darting behind the dumpsters that Glenn hid out in. Harlow strained to listen, yet their conversation barely reaching her ears. They remained there for a long moment before resurfacing, slinking carefully towards their vehicle, yet a splatter of bullets sent them back into their hiding place.

Before Hershel could stop her, Harlow tore herself away from the door and staggered down the alley, hunching low and brandishing her Beretta. She dove into the confined space that Rick and Glenn were holed up in, grunting as a sharp stab of pain resonated from her midsection. A stray bullet narrowly missed the side of her head as she crashed to the ground and out of view, but not before catching a fleeting glimpse of a faraway figure standing perched atop a building across the street, the distant gleam of a rifle blazing beneath the glow of the moon.

"Harlow, what're you-"

"They've got a goddamn sharp shooter." Her words cut through Rick's as she wheezed, flinching towards her battered ribs.

"Yeah, we kinda figured." Rick deadpanned.

"What the hell do we do?" Harlow implored.

"I - I don't know." Rick stammered, chancing a glance behind him. Unspoken moments passed between the trio as they sat, rigid in place, before an idea came to Harlow.

"What if I run across the street?" She began, thrusting a thumb in the general direction.

Rick shot her an incredulous look. "Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?"

"No - _listen_!" She gave an exasperated sigh. "I'll draw that fuckwit's attention, and while he's focused on me, you can take your shot-"

"No." Rick gave her a reproving look. "No, absolutely _not_!"

"Why not?!"

"Because it's too risky. Too dangerous."

"What else can we do, Rick?! We're sitting ducks out here! We don't have a whole lot of time-"

"Don't you think I know that?!" He stared at her, as if noticing her lacerations for the first time. "I promised Daryl I would get you back safe, and I intend on keeping that promise!"

Harlow's mouth parted as astonishment befell her features.

"You did what to _who_?"

"Before we left today, what you saw, that was _me_ promising _him_ that I would get you back in one piece - one _living_ piece! I don't know how I'm going to explain what happened to you already, and I sure as hell am not going to explain what happens if you run off like that!"

Harlow felt her head involuntarily cock to the side as she stared in awe. She didn't know how she felt, or how to react. Was she relieved that he cared about her safety, or was she livid that he couldn't trust her to take care of herself?

Before she could put her thoughts to words, the squelching of tires bloomed out from behind the dumpster as a massive truck swerved through the desolate street, coming to a sudden halt in front of the building the man was perched upon.

_"Let's get out of here!"_ A voice cried out from the safety of the cab. _"Roamers all over the place! Hurry up! We gotta get out of here!"_

Harlow took a shaky intake of breath. Roamers. Walkers. Fucking dead things. With the living to worry about, Harlow had disregarded their true enemy, the very thing that caused this world to spiral out of control, and they were coming.

_"What about the others?!"_ The sharp shooter hollered out.

_"They got 'em! We gotta go, roamers are everywhere!"_

_"We're leaving?"_

_"JUMP! Hurry up, jump already!"_

Harlow listened, with her back pressed against the grimy metal of the dumpster, as the man did what his comrade ordered, yet failed miserably as a series of crashes and screams followed suit.

"Dude didn't make it." Glenn whimpered, bowing his head.

_"Help - HELP ME!"_ The man bawled out, causing Harlow to shift uncomfortably in place.

_"I gotta go... I gotta go! I'm sorry!"_ The driver gave a pathetic apology before accelerating into the distance and out of sight, leaving his partner as zombie fodder.

As the last notes of the truck engine faded into the night air, Rick straightened up from his hunched position, delegating orders to the others. "Glenn, get Hershel - Harlow, come with me!"

Rick vaulted across the desolate road, Harlow trailing behind as she struggled to keep pace. The helpless screaming drew closer until they came upon the harrowing sight. The man laid sprawled across the top of a dumpster, his leg impaled on a wrought iron fence pike, flinging his arms about in pain and shock.

"Holy _shit_..." Harlow breathed.

"Help - please,_ help me_!" The man, seemingly younger than the others, pleaded desperately to those he shot at only moments ago. Harlow couldn't help but grimace at this ironic shift of events.

"He's just a kid." Rick stated, standing by the terrified figure, yet made no motion to pry him free.

"Please... please help me!" The boy whimpered. "I don't wanna die!"

"Goddamnit, Rick, what are we doing?" Harlow disregarded his pleas as she turned to the former Deputy. "You heard that asshole - there's _walkers_ coming! We need to get the others and get the hell out of here!"

"We have to go!" Hershel's voice boomed from behind. Harlow spun around to find him and Glenn joining the group huddled around the speared youth, leaning his head back with a bawling cry.

"No... _no_!"

"I'm sorry, son. We have to go!" Hershel laid a weathered hand atop his uninjured leg, passing for a sincere apology.

"No no, don't leave me, _please_!"

"We have to go!" Hershel repeated with pressed urgency.

Rick glanced between the others, visibly torn before blurting out, "We can't leave him."

"He was just _shooting_ at us!" Glenn admonished, gesturing to the boy who did, in fact, shoot at them.

"He's a _kid_!" Rick snarled.

"Please help me-"

"This place is _crawling_ with walkers!" Glenn exhorted, spit flying from his mouth.

"Fuck him, Rick!" Harlow gnashed her teeth together. "He wanted us dead!"

"We can't leave him!" Rick persisted. "We can't!"

"The fence went clean through." Hershel's voice broke through the bedlam, examining the breached leg. "There's no way we can get the leg off in one piece."

The boy let out a shrill cry as the fence rattled, his voice echoing about the darkened streets.

"Shut up!" Rick snarled, thrusting his gun towards him. "Shut up or I will shoot you!"

"That may be the answer..." Hershel said in a low voice as he pulled Rick off to the side. "We're not gonna get that leg off without tearing the muscle to shreds. He certainly can't run. He may bleed out."

"Shut up!" As the two men conspired paces away, Glenn reached a hand out to grasp the impaled leg, causing the boy to shriek even louder. "I'm sorry," Glenn immediately apologized as he took his hand off. "Just sh-shut up!"

"We're wasting time!" Harlow croaked out. "We just need to do something - and fast!"

"Maybe we should put him down." Hershel suggested mournfully. "I don't wanna see any more killing, but this is cruel."

"Can't we just take the leg off?"

Silence followed Glenn's words as they each mulled that option over. The boy's eyes widened in terror at the very notion. Even Harlow felt unnerved by it.

"That hatchet still in the car?" Rick finally questioned, directing his attention to Glenn.

"No no no, don't - don't cut my leg off, please!" The kid blubbered, shaking his head furiously.

"Will this cut through the bone?" Rick reached to his waist and retrieved a fold-out knife, holding it out for Hershel to examine.

"I'll have to sever the ligaments below the kneecap," Hershel began to explain in excruciating detail. "Cut above the tibia... he's going to lose his lower leg."

"Fuck... are you _kidding_ me?" Harlow mumbled towards Glenn as she rubbed the back of her sore neck. "We don't have _time_ for this shit!"

"When we get clear of here, we're gonna have to find some tinder, cauterize the wound so he doesn't bleed out." Hershel said as he tore the buttons off of his shirt, shrugging it off as he began fashioning it into a makeshift tourniquet.

"All right... no choice." Rick nodded before turning to Harlow. "Go start the car. We need to move fast!"

"That's what I'm talking about." Harlow gave an exasperated sigh as Hershel stuffed his hands into his pockets, retrieving a set of keys before tossing them her way.

"Here, take mine." He jerked his head behind him. "1990 Chevrolet Suburban. I'm not leaving here without it."

"Fair enough." Harlow caught the set of keys within ruddy hands before tearing off towards the vehicle, wincing with each determined step she took as the keys jingled within her grasp. The Suburban was parked in front of the bar, a half rotten relic from the 90's. As Harlow neared the driver's side of the vehicle, she stopped, reeling at the unrecognizable reflection against the murky window.

Her skin seemed sallow and wan against the glow of the moon, sticking out against the scarlet blood matter that littered her face and braided hair. She examined the bruises marring the left side of her face and the jagged cut on the right, starting from the corner of her mouth and ending before it lacerated her ear. It was shallow enough that it didn't penetrate the inside of her mouth, yet deep enough to be a lasting reminder of the events that transpired that evening.

Through all of this, she failed to notice the outline of shambling creatures as they appeared over the horizon, descending upon the desolate town in harrowing numbers. It wasn't until she was situated from behind the steering wheel that she caught sight of the oncoming swarm from the rear view mirror, sending her nerves into overdrive.

"Oh_ fuck me_!"

With hastened movement, Harlow jammed the key into the ignition as the engine roared to life with a jerking twist of her wrist. She whipped the steering wheel, rolling the Suburban out from its static state and veering it next to the trio by the impaled kid, stamping on the brake and lurching forward.

"Move your asses!" Harlow bellowed out after unrolling the driver's side window. "They're _coming_!"

"Oh God..." Rick turned his head in horror as the mobile cadavers loomed ever closer, drawn to the sounds they had created, and continue to create. "They're _everywhere_!"

Chaos ensued as the group was now surrounded by macabre horrors, surging from each direction. While Glenn and Rick got their weapons up and roaring, Hershel stood by the writhing boy, preparing to amputate his punctured leg. Harlow swore loudly as she leaned her body across the passenger's seat, gritting her teeth together in agony, as she worked on lowering the opposite window. A slight breeze blew through as she raised her gun, squinting through spasms of pain as she fought to line her sights up with a distant corpse, a spindly geriatric with stubs for hands. Her finger flexed against the trigger, emitting a deafening crack as the sound reverberated throughout the cab. A dulled ringing engulfed her senses as the creature folded to the ground.

Jason would have been proud of his baby sister.

Yet with every walker they took down, more seemed to surface out of the shadows, taking the place of the fallen. Harlow slammed her fist against the dash board as she straightened back up, directing her attention to the driver's side as she cried out to the others, "That leg better come off soon, goddamnit!"

The others were sent into a frenzy as they grappled with the scene before them.

"Come on, we gotta go!"

"I'm almost out of ammo!"

"We don't have much time! Come on, we've gotta go!"

"I can't hold 'em off! Hershel, do it _now_! Come on, Hershel!"

"There's no time!" Hershel hollered out, unable to go through with his plan as he dropped his arms and backed away, the pressure too great for the older man.

"Please don't leave me! _Please_! Please don't leave me!" The boy sobbed, gasping frantically at the others. While Hershel and Glenn scrambled to the Suburban, Rick stood by the boy, visibly conflicted.

"_Rick_!" Harlow screamed, helpless from the confines of the vehicle. He had seconds to act, and in that brief window of time Rick did something that made her cringe.

Gripping the heel of the boy's foot, he drove the limb upwards, freeing his leg from the wrought iron pike as blood fountained from the wound. The boy lifted his gaze towards the flickering sky above and howled until his vocal chords cracked and fizzled into oblivion.

Grasping the boy's shoulders, Rick heaved him off of the dumpster, narrowly missing the swinging extremity of a decaying corpse from the opposite side of the fence, and struggled to carry him back to the idle vehicle. Glenn doubled back, wrapping his ropy arms around the kid's waist as they collectively dragged him towards the Suburban and tossed his whimpering form into the back seat before they each jumped in in close pursuit.

"Son of a bitch!" Harlow swore loudly. "You guys are fucking ridiculous, you know that?"

"Just shut up and drive." Rick growled as Hershel claimed his spot in the passenger's seat, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Oh my God..."

Glenn groaned out from behind. Harlow shifted her attention forward, letting out a strained gasp that had nothing to do with her physical afflictions.

A sea of mobile carcasses littered the street before them, shuffling forward with nefarious purpose as the stench of death permeated the dank interior of the vehicle.

"What do we do?!" Glenn whimpered. Harlow furrowed her brows as she cast a glance towards the rear view mirror, the road behind them barren, save for a couple of shambling silhouettes.

"Everyone - hang on!"

Slamming the vehicle into reverse, Harlow drove the pedal to the floor as the Suburban roared backwards, the gravitational force throwing everyone forward. The left rear corner panel collided with one of the walking dead things, the sickening _ka-__thump_ sending the occupants of the cab into a nervous tizzy. The force launched the creature several feet behind, doing an almost comical midair spiral in a mist of blood as a piece of its decomposing arm detached and pinwheeled in the opposite direction. Gritting her teeth, Harlow cranked the steering wheel as far as it would go, the vehicle did an inelegant pirouette as the tires smoldered against the asphalt beneath.

"Be careful!" Hershel cried out.

"Shut up!" Harlow cringed as she clobbered the brake, skidding the vehicle to a halt before jacking it into drive and stomping on the pedal. The Suburban blasted off down the forsaken road, away from the horde of walkers as Harlow jerked the steering wheel, weaving past cars that were long abandoned and left to rot.

"We made it!" Glenn let out a deep sigh of relief. A darkened shadow passed over Harlow's mangled features as she urged the Suburban onward.

"We're not out of Dodge yet." She croaked out, yet as the vehicle barreled through the thick of night, she hoped to whatever God that the worst was truly over with.


	13. Better off Alone

**A/N: Happy Valentine's Day! :) Tomorrow is the Walking Dead Live, which I'll be attending, AND which i'm super duper excited about! **

**Thank you for all the lovely reviews, as well as new follows and favorites to this story! Let me know what you would like to see in the coming chapters! I'd love to hear what you guys have to say and want to read - after all, this story is for you!**

**Song Recommendation: "Better off Alone" by The Black Angels. **

* * *

Better off Alone

The blaze of fire cast an eerie glow on Harlow's mutilated features as she sat in stoic silence, watching as Hershel nursed the flames with a prod of a stick. While driving down long forgotten back roads, they came across a desolate patch of land, riddled with sparse tufts of trees and divots of dried, cracked soil. They were desperate to return back to the others, yet figured it be best to stop for the night rather than chance the drive back to the farm. This decision left Harlow unsettled; after learning that Daryl asked Rick to watch over her, the desire to see him consumed her, a plague on her waking consciousness.

As Hershel worked on the small campfire, Glenn sat rigid next to Harlow and Rick circled the perimeter, keeping watch over their seemingly calm surroundings. The events that transpired back at town weighted heavy on their minds, unrelenting and severe in nature. With every rustle or distant shadow came the fear of an unknown being shambling towards their makeshift campsite, and Harlow found herself wondering which was the deadlier threat - a horde of dead monstrosities, or her fellow human beings.

While fighting to maintain composure and sanity, a timid whimper would blossom out from the side of a nearby tree and draw the others from their thoughts, back to the injured boy they brought back with them. His sapless frame leaned against the thick trunk of a towering oak, struggling to maintain consciousness with every trickle of blood that issued forth from his gaping wound. Each sound he made seemed to chip away at their patience, bringing a strained sigh from Hershel and flustered stomp from Rick as he made his umpteenth pass around.

The life threatening events that transpired left Harlow with little time to consider her ailments, yet as she worked on unwinding her tightly coiled nerves, the pain of Harlow's wounds came back in throbbing spurts as the calm of night endured. The fractured rib at her side, contusions and deep laceration on her face seemed connected as the agony vibrated back and forth from each point. She fought to sit as still as possible, yet failed miserably as her features twisted in visible agony. Raising a moist cloth, she dabbed at her cheek in an attempt to mop up the dried blood, the jagged slice on her face searing with each contact the rag made.

She felt a pair of eyes upon her before letting out a strained sigh, not having to look to know who they belonged to.

"_What_, Glenn?"

"I feel like this is my fault." He confessed solemnly, nodding towards her battered face.

"There nothing you could have done." She murmured, feeling the right side of her face stiffen in immense pain as fresh blood pearled out from the gash.

"I clammed up when you needed me - I screwed up."

"That asshole shot at you, anyone would have done the same."

"Not me. I wouldn't have... I _shouldn't_ have done that. The others were counting on me - _you_ were counting on me, and I let you down."

"There's no use arguing about it." Harlow shrugged. "It's done. Won't do any good to dwell on it now. Just don't give me sad puppy eyes every time you see my face and we'll be good, all right?" She attempted a grin in his direction, which came across as a pained grimace. Glenn's mournful demeanor failed to diminish in the slightest.

"We need to cauterize the wound." Hershel's voice bloomed out over the flickering darkness, drawing the pair from their conversation. "The boy has lost a lot of blood as is, so we need to move fast."

Harlow bit back a retort, settling for a forced offer of help. "What do you need from us?"

"I need your knife, for starters."

Furrowing her brows, Harlow reached a begrimed hand to her waist, unsheathing her weapon and offering it out to him. Hershel wrapped his weathered hands around the handle and gently wrenched it from her grasp.

"Glenn, go into the car and grab whatever medical supplies you can find. There should be bandages, at the very least. We'll need those."

Glenn set off without another word. Harlow watched, in morbid curiosity as Hershel held the blade into the fire, allowing the dancing flames to lick and caress the length of keen metal.

"Rick, bring him over here. We need as much light as we can manage."

Rick, who had circled back around, gave a swift nod of his head as he made for the slumped form, grasping the boy by the shoulders and dragging him by the fire. The unnamed person let out a garbled yelp as he stumbled to the ground, Rick keeping a firm grasp on his arm.

"W-what are you gonna do to me?" The boy whimpered out, his eyes fluttering to stay open.

"What about Harlow?" Rick inquired, disregarding the kid's blubbering question.

"There's not much I can do for her out here. If we have enough supplies, I can try to wrap her midsection, help alleviate the pain of the fractured rib. It might be best if we leave that alone, though. Wrapping it would suppress her breathing, which could lead to a lung infection."

"Great." Harlow murmured.

"That cut on her face is what worries me most, to be honest." Hershel continued, thrusting the end of the smoldering stick towards the right side of her face. "It could require stitches. If not, it still needs disinfecting."

"I found the bandages," Glenn rejoined the others, waving the moderate sized roll within his clutches. "Nothing else, though."

"That will have to do, then." Hershel bobbed his head before flipping the blade over in the amber flames. "Rick, I need you to hold him down for this. Glenn, you do the same. I can't have any sort of movement from him. It's too risky attempting it out here as is."

"And what about me?" Harlow inquired, heaving herself to her feet in a graceless stagger. The older man considered her question for a moment before stating, "You did a decent job with Daryl's wounds a couple days prior. I'll have you assist with the cauterization. Talk to him if you have to. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

"Like scream? Got it." Harlow gave a raspish reply as she moved to the boy, crouching low over his feeble form. It took every ounce of strength within to keep herself from lashing out at him, her hand flexing at her side as she imagined the satisfaction of cracking it against the side of his face.

While others worked around to prepare, Harlow suddenly became still, looming above with resigned calm.

"What's your name?" She asked in a smooth voice.

"R-Randall." The boy stammered, his face glistening with perspiration.

"All right, Randall." She studied his features, taking in each aspect and embedding it to memory. The kid's eyes widened as he stared back, appearing to do the same with a look of disgust and fright.

"You want to know what happened to my face?"

Randall spluttered, his words garbled and indistinguishable.

"Your friend did this to me." She said in a coarse voice, raising a finger to point at the gash on the right side of her face. "Your goddamn friend did this to my _fucking_ face. And I bet you would have done worse if you hadn't have been thrown to the wolves - or walkers, in this case."

Randall swallowed hard as if forcing shards of glass down his esophagus.

"For some stupid reason, we didn't kill you. We're going to try and patch you up, but that doesn't mean I have to fucking like it, and that sure as hell doesn't mean it's going to be pleasant for you."

"Harlow..." Rick warned with a reproving glare.

"It's going to fucking hurt, and you're going to sit here and take it like a goddamn man-"

"Harlow!" Rick snapped. "Knock it off!"

"Sorry." She added in an afterthought.

"Maybe it's best if you _don't_ talk to the boy." Hershel said in a low voice before continuing, "Rick, Glenn - hold him down, now. I'm ready to begin."

Randall gave a frantic glance between the two men as they grabbed hold of each side of him, pinning him to the ground.

"P-please, don't hurt me-"

"Harlow, squeeze the wound together when I say, and hold it there until I tell you to stop."

"One sec," Harlow said before grabbing hold of the boy's chin with a vise grip, digging her fingers into slick flesh and prying his mouth open. He gave a sharp intake of breath as he fought against her clutches.

"Stop squirming," She hissed before taking the rag in her other hand, sullied with her blood, and jammed it into his mouth, stifling whatever sounds that were sure to issue forth.

"All right, Harlow, hold it together."

Lurching towards the boy's mangled extremity, she drew back the torn pant leg and squeezed the gaping hole of his wound closed, bringing a muzzled outcry from him. Hershel tore the knife from the fire, the blade glowing with sweltering heat, as he used his free hand to lean against the ground for leverage.

"Don't worry, Randall... this is only going to hurt_ a lot_." Harlow growled into the murky darkness.

Bringing the side of the blade against the gash, the skin beneath smoked and sizzled as Harlow dropped her knees down, bringing all of her weight against his leg, keeping it still as the boy attempted to bellow in agony, his cries suffocated against the moist cloth. Rick covered Randall's mouth with a free hand, stopping the strained notes from reaching the dead that surely lurked in the distance as the smell of singed flesh reached their senses.

"Keep him steady!" Hershel demanded as the boy quivered beneath. While the other fought to do just that, Randall's body shuddered one last time before he went limp beneath, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as the last of his struggles diminished.

"What happened?" Glenn questioned with an alarmed look.

"He just passed out." Hershel explained calmly. "And good thing, too - we have the other side of his leg to deal with."

* * *

The next morning dawned bright and fresh in temperature, casting a warm glow over the landscape surrounding the farmhouse. Ripples of pink and orange cascaded over the sky above, contrasting harshly with the crisp green foliage in the distance. On any other day, they would revel in the change of weather, yet this day was different; not a single living soul seemed to enjoy the waning of sweltering heat as the group back at camp busied to load the Hyundai Tuscan with various supplies in preparation for a rescue mission. They moved with frantic haste, spurred by the knowledge that Rick, Glenn, Hershel and Harlow were somewhere out there, their current state unknown.

No one seemed to realize this more than Daryl Dixon.

"C'mon, light a fire under it, people!" He barked out, pacing back and forth from the Hyundai to the Winnebago with a determined step. "I ain't waitin' all damn day for y'all!"

"We're going as fast as we can." T-Dog grumbled under his breath, rooting around the trunk space alongside Shane. "You ain't the only one freaking out about them."

Daryl gave a raspy huff. "Could've fooled me." Compared to the him, the others seemed cool and collected, adding to his deeply ingrained irate demeanor. His thoughts were a whirlwind of blistering anger and fear, frothing to the surface. What if something happened to them, and worse of all, what if something happened to _Harlow_?

_"This ain't like you, Dixon."_ He furrowed his brows, casting an acrid look to no one in particular, cursing himself for being drawn into a tormented state - all for some girl he hardly knew. The thought of her alone pulled him from his cloistered spot several acres away, where he spent his first night away from the others, unable to sleep a wink as terrifying images of what could have happened to her played through his head like a waking nightmare. Even the fleeting promise from Rick the day before, assuring Daryl that he would keep her safe, failed to put his turbulent mind at ease.

"Don't worry, Daryl," A woman's timid voice issued from behind, drawing him from his thoughts. He whirled around to spot Carol, staring up at him with her usual feeble demeanor.

"Don't worry 'bout what?" He growled out, daring her to continue.

"Harlow can take care of herself." She gave him a reassuring grin. "And besides, Rick won't let anything happen to her."

"Like hell he won't!" Daryl snapped before adding with pressed haste, "Not like a give a damn 'bout her, anyways."

"Could've fooled me..." T-Dog's voice snorted in the distance, echoing Daryl's own words moments prior. Growling audibly, Daryl stormed away from Carol and back to the unhinged trunk of the Hyundai, joining Shane and T-Dog. He adjusted the strap of his crossbow slung around his shoulders and took a long swig from his canteen before lowering it, spittle flying from his lips as he hollered out, "We ready or what?"

His question went unanswered as the distant churning of tires against gravel rose out from the distance, falling upon eager ears. Daryl poked his head around the edge of the vehicle, spotting something that promptly put a damper on his agitated nerves.

Hershel's late-model Suburban came up the winding farm road, the rear end producing a thunderhead of dust in the early morning air. At first he wondered if this was simply a mirage, his mind projecting what he wanted to see. If this were the case, then how the hell were the others seeing it, too?

"Guys!" Andrea exclaimed, poking a finger towards the approaching vehicle, drawing closer with each passing second until it came into full view, shooting past the others and and skidding into the lot. Daryl squinted his eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of the occupants within, and couldn't help but feel a flutter of relief when saw a glimmer of blonde through the tinted windows, blurring past with lightening speed.

The Suburban lurched sideways before coming to an abrupt halt in front of the farmhouse. Daryl wasted no time; dropping the canteen with a sharp _thunk_ on the ground, he tore off after the others, who sprinted towards the vehicle with determined haste. Even the occupants within the house stirred forth, familiar figures bursting from the screen door with a hopeful gleam in their eyes.

Rick slid out of the driver's side first, who was immediately met by the warm embrace of Carl and Lori. Hershel followed next out of the passenger's seat, and Glenn from the backseat. Daryl craned his head, his heart thrashing underneath his rib cage. Lastly, Harlow's fragile frame stumbled out after Glenn, gripping onto his shoulder for dear life as she fought to stand upright. Daryl frowned; something wasn't right. Her hair shrouded her features, shoulders hunched and back curved. Daryl couldn't help but liken her to a wilting flower amidst the blossoming hope that sprung forth at their arrival.

"Patricia, prepare the shed for surgery." Hershel said to the older female as he made haste for the front door to the house. Patricia gave a baffled look, yet did as she was told, following him in close pursuit.

"Surgery?" Carol glanced around. "For who?"

"Who the hell is _that_?!" T-Dog pointed to the Suburban with widened eyes. The others turned, spotting the injured man sitting in the backseat, his blindfolded head bobbing in a fight to stay conscious.

"That's Randall." Glenn said solemnly.

"Who the hell is Randall?" Shane questioned brashly.

"It's a long story..." Glenn gave a timid bow of his head before tearing away from Maggie, who appeared dumbfounded at his distant demeanor.

While the others moved to the side of the vehicle to inspect the injured newcomer, Daryl remained rigid as he watched Dale hasten towards Harlow, gripping her by the shoulders before pulling her into a massive embrace.

"Shit - Dale, watch it!" Harlow gave a sharp gasp.

"What's wrong?" Dale pulled away and held her out at arm's length for inspection. "What happened?! Are you all right?"

"None the worse for wear." She gave a wheezing chuckle. "Didn't sleep last night."

"Yeah? Neither did I!" Dale admonished. "I don't nearly look as ragged as _you_ though." He lifted both hands and pulled the blonde tendrils away from her face.

"Dale - don't-"

But it was too late. Her mangled features were in full view now as Daryl felt his teeth clench involuntarily. The deep laceration across the side of her face was enough to send his emotions into overdrive. He felt a strong urge to rush over to her - to comfort her, to tell her how worried he was the night before when she didn't return. Instead, he turned a venomous gaze to Rick before tearing off in his direction, anger licking at his insides.

"The hell happened to her?" He demanded, his feet digging into the gravel below until he was feet away from the former cop. A hushed silence came from the others, their attentions now drawn to the pair.

"Daryl, I-" Rick held a hand up in an attempt to stifle the southerner's anger.

"I asked you to do one thing,_ one thing_, and you couldn't even do that?!"

"I did what I could-"

"Daryl... knock it off!" A distant voice rang out. He paid no mind to it as he leaned forward, his face now inches from Rick's shell-shocked features.

"Horseshit, you did! You bring back this sumbitch when you should've been watchin' out for _her_!" He extended his index finger and waved it about in a flourish, dangerously close to the side of Rick's head. "Should've known better, trustin' someone who cuffed my damn _brother_ to a roof!"

His hand was smacked violently away from the man's head, and for a brief moment Daryl thought the action came from Rick. He was taken by surprise when it was, in fact, done by Harlow, his gaze catching her in mid swipe. The girl wedged herself inbetween the pair, glaring up at him with flared nostrils, her pewter eyes ablaze in visible fury.

"I said _knock it off_!" She hissed in a dangerously low voice. The sight of her mangled face was enough to send him staggering back, yet it wasn't out of disgust at her bruises and lacerations. In fact, there wasn't a single thing that could deter him from his fascination with her, something he himself could not come to grasps with. He recoiled from the simple look she gave him: pure hatred.

"How _dare_ you put that burden on Rick," She lashed out, thrusting a finger in his fact, crusted with dried blood and dirt. "You didn't do a damn thing for us last night, and while you cowered away after the funeral, we were balls deep in _shit_ out there! He did everything he could to keep us, and the rest of this group, safe! There wasn't anything he could have done to prevent this!" She jerked her head to the side, holding up her laceration in all of it's horrible glory. "So fuck off, and leave him the hell alone about it!"

Daryl felt his scowl slide into a visible frown. Shifting his gaze downwards, he gave a dejected look to the gravel below, breathing heavily through widened nostrils. Could she not see that he cared about her? That his anger towards Rick was really a mask of self loathing - that it should have been _him_ out there protecting her, much like he did when he first came across her parched and weary form days earlier, and not Rick?

"I wouldn't've let that happen to you... would've kept you safe." He growled, his voice barely registering over the sudden gust of wind that swept through. The others faded from view, and all that was left was himself and Harlow, standing face-to-face in this world gone to shit.

She raised her brows in mild surprise. "What did you just say?"

Daryl raised his line of sight upwards, realizing that every single person had their attention fixed solely on their conversation. Embarrassment crept up on him as he balled his hands into coiled fists.

"Nothin' - jus' forget it, all right?" He swerved around the maimed girl and made for his distant campsite. "Don't have to worry 'bout me stickin' my nose in yer business anymore. I'm _done_ carin'. 'bout all y'all."

The last notes of his words echoed in the distance, leaving behind a hushed silence that followed his final declaration:

"I'm better off alone."


	14. Trouble Weighs A Ton

**A/N: After The Walking Dead Live on Friday, I have to say that Norman Reedus is much more charming in person than in any interview or quote on the internet! :) I'm so glad I had the opportunity to watch him, along with Michael Rooker, Lauren Cohan and Greg Nicotero, talk and interact with the audience!**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed and favorited! :) I know I say this all the time, but you guys truly are the best! Feel free to let me know what you want to see happen next!**

**Song Recommendation: "Trouble Weighs A Ton" by Dan Auerbach.**

* * *

Trouble Weighs A Ton

"Hold still." Dale gently turned Harlow's head to the side in an attempt to get a better angle of her jagged cut. He dabbed a decent amount of antibiotic on the split, scabbed flesh, drawing a sharp hiss from the girl's clenched teeth as she jerked in pain, dulled by the effects of the codeine that was given to her moments prior.

"Oh, stop your squirming." He gave her a small grin. "You're lucky this didn't need stitching up."

"I don't even want to think about that." She groaned out, tilting her gaze upwards towards the ceiling of the Winnebago as Dale continued to tend to her wounds. The cramped quarters glowed with the pallid rays of late morning sun, peaking through the dusty windows and bringing the objects within to life.

"I know I'm no Hershel, but with him busy with that boy - Randall, or whatever his name is, I'm the best you've got right now."

Harlow let out a strained chuckle, finding it easier to laugh, and even move, with her midsection wrapped tightly in elastic bandages and blood pumping with narcotics. "Hershel's a _veterinarian_, isn't he? I worry he'll put me down for as much as a sprained ankle."

"Glad to see you still have a sense of humor." Dale grimaced as he worked the glob of medical cream up the arc of her laceration, stopping short of her ear. "What exactly happened out there, Harlow?"

She felt her features fall into a somber expression, now ignoring the dulled pang of her wound. "Things got... carried away." She cleared her throat. "Did you talk to anyone about Shane?"

"Don't you change the subject on me," Dale gave another fleeting grin. "We'll talk about that later, and vague answers like _that _won't be enough."

She gave a forced sigh before going into excruciating detail on the events that transpired, leading up to the moment they returned back to the farm. With each sentence uttered brought a deep frown from Dale as he continued to work on Harlow's wounds.

"I'm just glad you're all right." Dale breathed low, finishing the touches of his handiwork as he taped the last corner of the bandage covering her jagged incision. "You guys had us worried sick."

"I'm sorry," She gave a sincere apology. "That's not really what we were trying to do."

"I know that. You, Rick and Glenn did good by going after Hershel." He shot her an equally sincere smile. "It might have earned us a permanent stay here."

"Funny enough, that was the farthest thing from my mind when I left with them." She mused aloud. "I just wanted him back here with his family, where he's needed. I felt they deserved that, after the whole barn fiasco. _Shit_, it feels like ages ago… I keep forgetting it only happened yesterday."

"Funny how we perceive time." Dale murmured before drawing back from her, straightening up. "That should do it."

"Thanks, Dale." Harlow patted her bandaged face. "Just like a pro. You can send the bill to my insurance company."

And with that, she staggered to her feet, the pain almost driving her back into a hunched seated position.

"Woah! Easy, there, Sunshine!" Dale exclaimed, springing to his feet as well. "You just took enough codeine to sedate a mammoth!"

"I feel fine." In truth, the narcotic left her feeling carefree, her head swimming in dizzy bliss. "I need to go do something."

_"I need to talk to Daryl..."_ She thought inwardly. _"I need to apologize for earlier..."_

"Whatever it is, I assure you, it can wait." Dale gave her a reproving look. "With that busted rib, you need to take it as easy as possible."

Harlow sighed. _Could _she take it easy?

"It can't wait, Dale." She turned her attention to the floor below. Her outburst at Daryl weighed heavy on her mind. Sure, she was pissed for him lashing out at Rick the way he did, but she knew, or at least she hoped, that it came solely from a place of deep concern. After all, his true feelings were summed up in one simple string of words that echoed in her mind like a plague:

_"...I wouldn't've let that happen to you... would've kept you safe…" _

"I think I know what this is about." He gave her a patient smile. "We should go back to the house, check in on the others, see how our new 'friend' is doing." Dale moved towards the accordion door and pushed it open, shooting her a knowing glance. "You'll have a chance to talk to Daryl later."

Harlow couldn't help but give a flash of smile, crooked from the throbbing laceration on the right side of her face, as she took slow, uneasy steps down the brief flight of stairs.

"If you say so, Dale."

* * *

"I repaired his calf muscle as best I can, but he'll probably have nerve damage. Won't be on his feet for a least a few weeks." Hershel joined the massive group huddled around the dining room table in the pristine farmhouse, wiping his hands against a sullied rag. The two factions were merged as one, congregating for one simple reason: to discuss what would happen to Randall.

Harlow found herself situation between Glenn and Carol, hunched over with tendrils of blonde tucked behind each ear. Dale stood behind the girl, gripping the back of the chair with a firm hold, watching the others with a keen eye.

Before Hershel's arrival, they engaged in a heated discussion on the various options they had. They were deeply divided on the issue; one side believed they should spare his life while the other, led by Shane, believed he shouldn't be bestowed with that much sympathy.

Harlow glared downwards, resting both elbows against the immaculate tablecloth and letting out a raspy exhale of breath. She was torn between the two views. On one hand, she wanted to see him suffer to the last breath for what his friends attempted to do, yet why would they kill him after fighting so hard to save his life in the first place?

"When he is, we give him a canteen, take him out to the main road, send him on his way." Rick said from the head of the table, as if the matter was already settled.

"Isn't that the same as leaving him for the walkers?" Andrea folded her arms firmly in front of her chest, standing with her back turned to the opened windows next to Shane, mounted in place with an annoyed grimace.

"He'll have a fighting chance." Rick answered.

The front door gave a howling creek, signaling the late arrival of another member of the group. Harlow's head perked up at the familiar figure, outlined by the beaming sunlight. Her insides twisted as her eyes adjusted through the blinding rays of sun.

Daryl Dixon stepped into the room, shooting the others a fleeting glance before setting his sights on Harlow. Their eyes met, and for a moment Harlow forgot her earlier outburst as she gave him an involuntary smirk. It was returned with a surly glower as Daryl crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder into the wooden door frame, not as quick to forget such events. Harlow broke the gaze as she turned her head to the side, likening her expression to his.

"Just gonna let him go?" Shane's voice brought Harlow back to the conversation at hand. "He knows where we are."

"He was blindfolded the whole way here." Rick explained with narrowed eyes. "He's not a threat."

"Not a threat." Shane echoed with an air of amusement. "How many of them were there? You killed four of their men, you took one of 'em hostage, but they just ain't gonna come lookin'?"

"They left him for _dead_!" Rick boomed loudly. "_No one_ is looking!"

"We should still post a guard," T-Dog advised.

"He's out cold right now, will be for hours," Hershel said in a calm manner.

"Y'know what?" Shane slammed his hands against the top of the table. "I'm gonna go get him some flowers and candy!" He scoffed before stomping around the table, weaving past the others in a flourish of movement. "Look at this, folks - we back in _Fantasyland_!"

Harlow rolled her eyes in a vivid display of exasperation.

"You know, we haven't even dealt with what you did at my barn yet!" Hershel's voice rose out, jerking a finger in his direction. Shane wheeled around before he could make for the door, visibly surprised at the older man's tone of voice as he pressed on. "Let me make this perfectly clear, once and for all: This is _my_ _farm_."

The others craned their necks to watch the heated scene with bated breath.

"Now, I wanted you gone. Rick talked me out of it, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. So do us both a favor - keep your mouth _shut_."

Harlow couldn't keep herself from beaming up at the older man. _"It's about damn time!"_

Shane stared, appalled, as if no one had ever dared to speak to him in such a manner. Turning back around, Shane stormed past the front door in a fit of silent rage.

"Look," Rick's voice cut through the tense air. "We're not gonna do anything about it today. Let's just cool off."

And with that, the others began to disperse, filing past the front door in a somber silence. Harlow turned to Daryl, chomping down on her lower lip as she watched the southerner give the former deputy a scathing look. It was returned with an equally rancid expression as the two stared each other down, communicating wordlessly. When nothing else came besides the heated exchange of looks from the pair, Daryl tore himself away from the wooden frame and stalked towards the front door, but not before giving Harlow a fleeting glance over his shoulder.

Whether it was his intention or not, Harlow felt a strong, compelling urge to follow after Daryl. She wasted no time; heaving herself out of her seat, she gave Dale a weary bob of her head before tearing after Daryl in a slow, staggering pace, slowed by the dulled pain in her side.

She followed him outside, down the stairs of the porch, and towards a vacant stretch of land, far beyond the safety of camp. She furrowed her brows, chest heaving in strained intakes of breath underneath the tightly woven bandage, wondering where he was going, or where he was leading her.

Harlow's eyes were fixed on the spot between Daryl's shoulder blades, an emblem of angel wings ironed on the back of the leather vest that he sported over a grayed long sleeve shirt. This emblem of his intrigued her, drawing her onward through thick tufts of verdure and sparsely placed trees. Her trance ruptured as he pivoted, turning to face her with a detached look.

"The hell you doin'?" He questioned callously, as if noticing her for the first time.

"What does it look like?" She halted in place, standing feet away from his towering form. She now saw, directing her line of sight behind him, a shabby looking campsite, unappealing for some, yet a perfect spot for one Daryl Dixon to wallow in solitude. "Wanted to see your new place. Looks… cozy." She said, nodding to the corroded stone wall standing amidst his belongings, a string of gutted vermin running from one end of the site to the other.

"Don't be a smartass!" He grunted out, chucking his crossbow against the stone pillar with little regard. "Shouldn't be here, Harlow… not after gettin' beat down like that."

"I just want to talk." She implored, immediately dropping her sarcastic demeanor.

"I'm done talkin'!" He admonished in a gritty tone, slumping to the ground and using the mast of stonework as a handy backrest. "Said my peace to Rick, don't have nothin' to say to you…" He hesitated, casting a sour look in her direction, recognizing her steadfast appearance, before conceding. "Whatever. You wanna talk? Start _talkin'_."

Harlow flicked her tongue against her cracked lower lip, the metallic taste of blood still there, though the last remains were wiped clean ages ago. "I just want to... apologize for earlier."

"Ain't that sweet of you." He grunted out sarcastically.

Harlow took a shaky intake of breath, involuntarily flinching towards her throbbing midsection before pressing on. "Listen - I'm sorry for how I reacted earlier."

"Don't give a damn if you are or ain't."

"Don't do this, Daryl." She tilted her head to the side, staring with an imploring gaze, hoping to reach out to his distant spirit.

"Don't _what_?!" He snapped.

"You know what I'm talking about. _This_. You weren't like this before…"

"Wasn't like this 'fore?! You don't know the first thing 'bout me, goddamnit!" Daryl swelled in anger, swiftly rising to his feet. "You don't know the hell I've been through, or the hell I've done! Don't you come waltzing in here, tellin' me how different I am now!"

His words left a pierce ringing in her ears, her drug addled mind swimming in a sea of gloominess and numbed agony at his words.

"You weren't like this before we found Sophia..."

White hot rage flashed in his cobalt eyes. Harlow blinked, and when her eyelids reopened, she found Daryl bearing down on her in a towering storm of fury.

"You leave Sophia out of this, y'hear?!" He blared, pointing a finger inches away from her face. "She ain't got nothin' to do with this! She's gone, Harlow! _Dead_!"

Harlow remained firmly in place, unflinching at his outburst. Her pewter eyes smoldered under his harsh gaze, involuntarily doing something that surprised even herself. Raising a hand towards Daryl's outstretched one, she laced her fingers around his and slowly guided his arm back to his side. He made no motion to stop her, saying nothing in response to her enveloping touch, as the two of them remained that way for a moment that stretched out for several long seconds.

"She's gone…" He repeated as anger was slowly overcome with grief, his hand trembling under her grasp. "Goddamnit, she's _dead_." Sorrow befell his surly features, tearing away from Harlow and making his way back towards the crumbling stone, collapsing onto the ground with a dejected look turned towards the earth below.

Harlow frowned, taking in the sight of the broken man before her. Finding Sophia meant everything to Daryl – she knew that long before they discovered her reanimated corpse in the barn. Finding her meant he served a purpose, proving that he wasn't just some dumb redneck, and that there was still good in this world gone to shit.

She felt her feet slowly guide her towards the defeated man. Ignoring the sharp pain in her side and grinding of fractured ribs, she lowered herself onto the ground, kneeling in front of his slouched form and resting both hands within her narrow lap.

"Can't believe it." Daryl grumbled, as if allowing himself to feel grief for the first time since discovering her shambling out of the barn. "Thought for sure I'd find her, bring her back to her mom, continue where we left off… but she's gone. Ain't nothin' but a memory."

Harlow chose to remain silent, unable to find the right words to counter his. Instead, she settled for stretching a hand outward, resting in against his bent knee. He jumped, startled at her touch, yet seemed to relax within seconds.

"Sorta lost it with Rick earlier, didn't I?"

"I think we're all losing it, to be honest." Harlow gave him a weary grin.

"Sorry 'bout earlier." He grunted out in a sincere manner. "Was pretty stupid of me."

"You're not _stupid_." Harlow reproved. "And I appreciate that… but I'm not the one that needs apologizing to."

Daryl let out a huff of breath in response. Harlow pressed on, speaking barely above a whisper, "Why do you care so much, anyways?" It was a questioned that begged for an answer, a question that consumed her entire being. Why not ask Rick to watch over Glenn, or the others? Why was his devotion fixed solely on her?

"I don't know," He answered after a moment of thick silence, emphasized by the distant chirring of distant wildlife. "Already lost Sophia, Merle... couldn't take another blow like that." He cleared his throat, chewing on the inside of his mouth with a nervous glance to the side. His sudden apprehensive nature melted Harlow's heart as her chest swelled under the elastic bandages wrapping her midsection.

"But why _me_?"

"You ain't a hopeless case like the rest of this sorry bunch." His brash nature returned, flinging an arm wildly towards the faraway campsite. "You got balls... y'know, for a girl an' all."

Harlow gave a forced chuckle. "You're damn right I do..." Her features fell as a small frown took place. "...Is that what you really think of the others? After everything you did for them before?"

"Weren't you listenin'? Did all sorts of stuff for them, and for what? Not a damn thing, that's what." He glanced over his shoulder, staring off into the distance. "Sophia's dead, my own brother ain't around no more. Tried my damndest with nothin' to show for it." He turned his head and stared down at her hand, chewing on his words before stating impassively, "Ain't got nothin'... "

Harlow's hand tightened around his knee in a firm, but still gentle, touch. "You have _me_."

He snapped his gaze back towards Harlow, his features softening as if seeing her in a new light.

"Don't get all sensitive on me, y'hear?" He said, his gentler tone contrasted harshly with the words that uttered forth.

"Sorry, won't happen again." She gave a lopsided grin. "Can you promise me something, though?"

"What is it?"

You can think ill of the others all you want, even if I don't approve... but please, don't give me the same treatment." She exhaled deeply, as if a heavy weight was lifted from her shoulders. He seemed surprised at her request, eyes widening and arms flinching involuntarily at his side. "Promise that you won't pull away from _me_."

Daryl didn't speak at first, and for a fleeting moment Harlow feared he would tell her no, that he couldn't promise her such a thing.

Moving his hand, he placed it against his leg, the tips of his fingers grazing hers in a near tender touch before saying the words that she ached to hear:

"I won't... I promise."


	15. Down the Line, Love

**A/N: Happy Friday! Since I was snowed in all of yesterday, I was able to get some serious writing done! **

**As an extra bit of information, I'm dragging out the time between "Triggerfinger" and "18 Miles Out" to a few weeks, you know, for character development reasons. :)**

**Big heaping thanks goes to everyone for reviewing, following and favoriting! Let me know what you want to see in the coming chapters!**

**Song Recommendation: "Down the Line, Love" by Castanets.**

* * *

_"And I know you tried love,  
And, love, I know that I tried, too  
But my kind of trying, babe  
Well, it don't quite much look like trying to you…"_

Down the Line, Love

Darkness engulfed the sky as night settled upon rural Georgia. The last shreds of sunlight were wiped from existence as the moon reined high over Daryl's campsite, where the younger Dixon sat, unable to find sleep for a second night in a row. Sitting in front of the dying embers of the once healthy campfire, Daryl gazed over the dancing flames and towards the very thing that drove him to his restless state.

In the calm of night, Harlow fell deeper into sleep, her slender frame propped against the corroded stonework. No movement came from her, save for the steady swelling of her chest with each intake of breath. She fell into still repose hours before the waning of sunlight, unable to keep her eyelids open after the previous night of sleepless mayhem, mingled with heavy doses of codeine. She refused to leave his side prior to falling asleep, and now, as he looked over her uncomfortable sleeping position, he felt he should at least wake her up and get her back to her own sleeping quarters.

But how could he? Leaning forward and resting an elbows against each knee, he studied her features, bathed in the warm glow of the fire. He couldn't bring himself to stir her from her impenetrable slumber. Every worry and fear vanished from her battered face, leaving behind a serene beauty that he had never witnessed before. As he sat, transfixed, he was beset with the thought of how something so seraphic could thrive in a hideous, cruel world like this.

He chewed on the inside of his mouth, reaching low to pick up one of his handcrafted arrows, twirling the whittled object between calloused fingertips. He couldn't save Sophia or find his brother, but he sure as hell wouldn't let Harlow's fate mirror their demise. He would do whatever it takes to make sure of that.

As if on cue, the familiar drawl of Merle echoed in the back of his mind, ravaging his thoughts as his brother's hateful nature brewed within.

_"Sounds like you've got quite a thing for that scrawny bitch, baby brother…"_

Daryl's hand coiled around the shaft of the arrow, growling out over the crackle of nearby flames, "Shut up, Merle."

_"The hell I will! Left me for dead, but you'd bend over backwards to protect your little Aryan princess."_

"I..." He couldn't deny it, least of all to the imagined voice of Merle.

_"You lettin' her keep yer balls in her purse now, too?"_

"I said shut up!"

"_Yer whipped somethin' awful, watchin' over her like that. Didn't raise you to be no pussy!"_

"She ain't like that! She's... she's somethin' else."

_"Somethin' else, huh? Y'know, Darylina, if I was you, I wouldn't let her get into my head like she did yours... I'd be gettin' into her, if you catch my meanin'…"_

His mind conjured Merle's trademark laugh, one that made his insides reel as his gaze darted towards Harlow's slumbering form. He wondered how things would be if Merle was still around. Would he have moved in on his territory, much like he did countless times before when the younger Dixon would show even the slightest interest in another woman?

Would Merle have taken Harlow away from him?

"Don't even like her like that," Daryl hissed, yet the harrowing thought that he might have a deep affection towards her scared him more than anything else.

_"Don't gotta like her to fuck her! If it was me, I'd have miss blonde thing bent over, workin' that skinny little ass 'til she screams…"_

The image of his brother doing that very thing to her flashed before him as clear as day. Harlow was no longer sleeping, but on all fours, naked and crying out his brother's name while Merle drove in from behind, howling like a dog in heat, resting his bleeding stump where his hand once was against the small of her back…

He pursed his lips together in seething anger, forgetting for a moment that it was all in head, and felt the uncontrollable urge to punch that shit-eating grin off of his brother's face.

"Don't do that! Don't talk 'bout her like that…" Daryl snarled through clenched teeth, chucking the arrow to the side. "She ain't like that! Wouldn't go for a piece of shit redneck like yerself!"

_"Piece o' shit redneck, huh?_" Merle's voice bloomed out once more. _"An' what does that make you, baby brother? After all… yer thinkin' this whole thing up yerself…"_

"I ain't like you," Daryl hissed desperately. "I ain't _nothin'_ like you…"

"Daryl?"

Harlow's voice ruptured Daryl's train of thought as he jerked his head towards her. The sickening vision of his brother violating her in the most sensual way faded into the surrounding crepuscule. She stared back at him, now awake, her pewter eyes hazy from her freshly disturbed sleep. Apart of him still envisioned his brother's hands roaming the curves of her delicate frame, and without realizing it, Daryl's features acquired a hateful expression.

"Who were you talking to?"

"No one." Daryl shook his head, his glare swiftly replaced with an embarrassed grimace. "Wasn't talkin'… go back to sleep."

Harlow shifted in her seated position, wincing as her once peaceful features were overcome with visible agony. "Pain meds are wearing off… _mother-shit-fuck_!" She clutched her side with a sharp intake of breath.

In the blink of an eye, without thinking twice, Daryl was up on his feet, weaving around the dying fire and kneeling before her ragged frame.

"C'mon, let's get you back to the others."

"No," Harlow shook her head, gazing imploringly at him. "I'll go in the morning… let me stay here for now."

Daryl furrowed his brows, ignoring the unexplainable feeling brewing within as he locked his blue eyes with her gray. It was a sensation never felt before, and he didn't know whether to embrace it or run terrified in the other direction.

"Ain't that comfy out here," Daryl grunted, casting a nervous glance around the site.

"Yeah? Not exactly a five star resort back there." She wheezed in a pitiful attempt at laughter.

"Fine," Daryl snapped, reaching out and grasping her shoulders. The warmth of her flesh seeped through her shirt and grazed his hands, causing him to flinch involuntarily. "Lay down, then, you stubborn ass. Better layin' down than sleepin' upright."

With a gentle touch, he guided her frame towards the earth below. She let out several groans of pain until she was sprawled supine upon the bed of grass, and from there she was proceeded to whimper, bringing a deep frown from Daryl.

"You all right?" He inquired sincerely, his tone taking a much gentler edge that surprised even himself.

"Yeah… fucking ribs hurt," She managed. "Thanks for letting me stay here."

"Ain't no trouble." Daryl shrugged, taking a seat next to her and leaning his own back against the stonework, much like she did moments before. The last trace of his brother's imagined presence was gone now, and all that was left was the two of them, alone together. With his head tilted towards the sky above, he took in the crystalline glimmer of stars, yet the beauty of the heavens paled in comparison to the girl lying inches from his upright form.

He felt pressure against his lower leg, and as he turned his attention back towards the earth, he found Harlow's head propped against his shin, her angelic and damaged features tilted in his direction.

"Found a pillow," She croaked out with a weary laugh. "You don't mind, do you?"

Daryl found comfort in the pressing weight against his limb, giving a compulsory shake of his head. "Naw, not one bit… get some sleep, Harlow."

He liked the way her name sounded, how it effortlessly rolled off his tongue and reverberated throughout the vicinity of the campsite. He liked her own words, wondering how rough and articulate phrases could be uttered from something so feminine. He liked her blonde tendrils of hair, cascading across his leg and framing her delicate features. Most of all, he liked her eyes, the cold gray holding a damaged sorrow, mirroring his own broken soul.

"Goodnight, Daryl," She whispered before her eyes fluttered closed, nestling her head against his shin and falling back into a silent state of sleep.

He realized, with dawning clarity, that he truly did have feelings for Harlow Reid.

* * *

"You and Daryl have been spending a lot of time together."

Harlow regarded Dale's words with an elusive grin as the pair took watch atop the Winnebago, basking in the glory of the late afternoon rays of sunlight. While Dale reclined in the fold out chair in a comfortable manner, Harlow took to pacing back and forth, unable to stand still.

"So? I've been spending a lot of time with _you_, too." Harlow said evasively, yet knew that what Dale said was true. In the past week, since the barn fiasco and the mishap back in town, Harlow made frequent trips to Daryl's faraway campsite, despite the other's protests for her to stay put in regards to her injuries. She found solace in his company, even if words were barely passed between the two. The unspoken moments were something she cherished dearly, a break from the hectic bustle back at camp with the others.

At first, the long trek was almost too much for the fragile girl to bear, but as the days passed, she found it easier to move without feeling like her midsection would burst from sheer agony. Even her facial laceration, which before was a horrendous sight, healed to the point where the large bandages weren't even needed, yet were still used, much to her relief. She wasn't ready for the scabbed flesh to be put on display for the others.

"Nothing's going on, if that's what you're implying." Harlow continued, reaching into her back pocket and producing the pack of cigarettes she stole from Tony after being gunned down by herself and Rick. "You got a light?"

"Only if you plan on sharing," Dale smirked, reaching into the front pocket of his unbuttoned shirt, the design of palm trees and suns giving the illusion of a vacation gone terribly awry. He retrieved a lighter before swinging his arm low, tossing it in her direction. She caught it in one hand with ease while the other stuffed the filter of an unlit cigarette between flushed lips. With a flick of her thumb, she produced a spark of flame that engulfed the end, inhaling and allowing the toxic fumes to fill her lungs.

"I didn't know you smoke," Harlow said in a halo of smog, leaning forward and offering the pack and lighter to Dale, who accepted graciously before lighting one up himself.

"I enjoy the occasional cigarette," He said with a toothy grin, holding the butt between fingers and leaning back further in his chair. Harlow's pacing ceased, feeling the effects of the tobacco almost instantaneously as it lulled her into a calm state.

"How's Randall holding up?" Her question wasn't meant to imply concern for the boy, who was locked away in a cramped shed. She was merely curious, and anxious for the others to deem him fit for travel. His presence was a nasty reminder of what happened back in town, and she wanted that plague purged from her thoughts.

"He's doing better, though a long way from a full recovery," Dale said, smoke coiling from his mouth and nose. "It could be another week or two before we kick him loose." He turned his head to fully face Harlow, studying her with a keen eye. "How are _you_ holding up?"

"Better," Harlow said truthfully. "This whole fractured rib business is still a pain in my ass… or side." She flashed him a humorous grin. "I keep asking Hershel how much longer it'll take before I'm back to normal, and _he_ keeps saying it could take weeks. Maybe after the umpteenth time of asking his answer will change into something more pleasant to hear."

"Keep dreaming, Sunshine."

The two share a laugh, forgetting their troubles in one brief jovial moment.

"Is Daryl ever going to come back?" Dale's question sapped the grin off of Harlow's face as she chomped down on the filter of her cigarette.

"He never left, technically… just moved camp farther off."

"You know what I mean." Dale narrowed his gaze. "He's been emotionally distant with us since Sophia's second death. The only person who's been able to get through to him is… well, _you_."

Harlow turned her gaze downwards, unable to muster the courage to tell Dale that Daryl didn't want to come back to the others, that he lost faith in this group, and most of all, himself.

"He just needs time. He'll come around," Harlow said, doubting her own words that were used to reassure Dale. How much time would it take for Daryl's damaged soul to recover?

"Good thing he has you, then." Dale smiled. "Is he aware of everything that happened back in town?"

"He's got the gist of it," Harlow said vaguely, exuding a puff of smoke from parted lips.

"So not the whole story, I take it."

"He knows that we were attacked by a group of assholes and that we brought one of them back with us… he doesn't know that Randall was _shooting_ at us prior to his leg getting staked by a fence pike."

"Hm." Dale flicked the smoldering ashes from the end of his cigarette. "I bet he'll be down here in a New York minute to give Randall hell if he ever finds out."

"Shithead probably deserves it," Harlow said acidly.

"Well, hang on a minute," Dale perked up in his chair. "We don't know Randall's story. He's a younger man, maybe the others in his group forced him into it, not leaving him with an ultimatum."

"He's not _that_ young," Harlow admonished. "And he would have killed _us_ if he hadn't have fallen and needed our help. Fuck 'em." She flicked the spent cigarette to the side, where it pinwheeled and disappeared in the distance.

"Well, good thing we won't have to endure his company for very much longer." Dale mimicked her action, discarding the filter with a wave of his hand. "And I'm glad we're doing it Rick's way, and not Shane's."

Harlow grimaced; Shane constantly preached to the others that they would be signing their own death warrants if they went through with setting Randall free. Apart of her agreed with him on that, yet she was damn near sick of him bemoaning about it every chance he got.

_"What happens if he makes his way back to his little group?"_ Shane would begin each argument. _"What if he leads them here, packin' heat and hell bent on revenge?"_

_"How can he?"_ Rick would counter. _"We had him blindfolded the whole way back – he won't know where the farm is."_

_"That's a chance I ain't willin' to take, brother,"_ Shane would pick up steam around that point, usually flourishing a hand for emphasis. _"That little shit ain't worth all our lives!"_

It was then that Harlow would retreat away from earshot of their bickering, either to talk to Dale, check in on Beth's catatonic state, or make for Daryl's faraway campsite. Not once did she sneak a peek at the boy being held captive. She couldn't stand to look at his face.

"Yeah, thank Christ for that," Harlow said with a hollow voice, her attention drawn back to the present conversation with Dale atop the Winnebago. "Honestly, if I hear Shane's voice one more time-"

"Thought I'd find you here, Harlow!" As if on cue, Shane's voice boomed out from below as his burly form emerged from a clearing of trees, bringing a grimace from the pair.

"…I'll go crazy." Harlow finished under her breath before calling out, "What do you want, Shane?"

"Hershel wants to talk to you," He answered back, stuffing his thumbs into the front waist of his jeans as he gazed upwards with an amused grin. "Knew you'd be up there, chit-chattin' away." He then turned his sights on the older man. "Looks like you've got a thing for blonde's, Dale!"

"And Shane's got a thing for married women," Harlow muttered, loud enough for Dale to hear as he shot her a look of warning.

"What was that?" Shane hollered out.

"Nothing." Harlow let out an exasperated sigh as she began to climb down the ladder, gritting her teeth as the familiar pain in her side resurfaced with each descending step. "Where's he at?"

"In the house," Shane answered curtly, shooting her a suspicious glare as she stalked past, giving him a similar look of contempt. What she wouldn't give to wipe that permanent scowl off of his face.

* * *

"Your wounds seem to be healing up nicely," Hershel stated calmly as he examined Harlow in the grand living room, both sitting side-by-side on the antique relic of a sofa. The bandage covering the gash on her face was removed, and Harlow sighed as the cool air caressed her stinging flesh.

"Still hurts like a bi-" She stopped short, nearly forgetting Hershel's rule of no swearing in the house, an absurd one by her standards.

"Hurts pretty bad," She corrected herself grudgingly.

"Thank you," Hershel gave her a budding grin. "And it's going to hurt for a bit longer. Luckily, the worst is over with." He reached towards the end table and retrieved a box of medical supplies. "We don't need to completely cover your cut from now on. A bit of air will do it some good." He wiped a towelette of mystery substance around the jagged incision, careful not to make contact with the split flesh, before pulling out a strip of butterfly closures, peeling one back and placing it across the base of her cut near the corner of her mouth.

Harlow couldn't help but frown as he silently placed several more on the wound, following the arc of the incision up until it stopped an inch away from her ear, keeping the split flesh firmly in place. She was never vainglorious about her looks before, but now, with her healing wound proudly on display, she felt self-conscious about her marred exterior.

"You think I'll have a scar from this?" She asked, attempting to keep a deep frown at bay.

"Honestly? Yes." Hershel gathered the wrappers and soiled bandages and stuffed them into a nearby trashcan. "You're ribs will heal in a few weeks, your bruises will clear up, but that scar will always be there." He cast his attention to the floor below, hooded eyes flashing a look of deep emotional affliction. "I'm sorry for that."

Harlow furrowed her brows, placing both hands in her narrow lap. "This isn't your fault."

"But it is," Hershel nodded his head slowly. "If I hadn't have gone off after the funeral – if I had just stayed here, then none of this would have happened. I'm sorry, Harlow."

Harlow shook her head. "You have _nothing_ to be sorry about. What matters is that we got you back here _safe_."

He raised his sight to meet hers, offering a sorrowful grin. "I don't think I've ever thanked you… for everything you, Rick and Glenn did for me back there. I don't think I could ever repay you."

"You don't have to, Hershel. You've done so much for us, I would gladly go out there and do it all over again for you and your family."

She placed a hand against his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. His grin broadened, unspoken gratitude radiating from his weathered features.

"Speaking of which, how's Beth doing?" Harlow inquired, removing her hand from him and placing it back in her lap.

"Better," Hershel began, now placing his fingers against her ribs, bringing a strained hiss from Harlow's clenched teeth. "She's slowly coming out of her state, becoming more responsive with each new day."

"Good… that's good." Harlow gave a forced grin, attempting to ignore Hershel's prodding. "She's tough to come out of something like that."

"Something like that," Hershel said, his smile fading. "She's gone through a lot… seen a lot. Granted, we all have, but seeing her mother… seeing them come out of the barn like that, I think it broke her."

Harlow cast a fleeting glance towards the open window to her side, rays of sunlight peeping through the lace curtains and casting intricate designs along the wood flooring. She wondered to herself if this endless cycle of death and despair would ever end, but knew, deep down, it was something they had to live with for the rest of their miserable existence.

"You should be all set to go." Hershel withdrew from Harlow and rose to his feet. "Continue to rest and eat and you'll be better in no time."

"I'll try my best." Harlow rubbed the back of her neck. She watched as older man made his way to the end table, retrieving a bottle from beside the assortment of bandages and medical supplies and offered it to the battered woman.

"Calcium supplements. Since dairy products are at a shortage, it'll do your ribs good to take these."

Harlow took the bottle from his grasp, the contents within rattling as she looked over the label. "What I wouldn't give for a huge block of cheese… but this will do." She shot him a wry grin. "Thanks, doc."

* * *

The scenery surrounding Harlow morphed into something much more pleasant as she prepared to make her usual journey to Daryl's campsite. Glenn and Maggie conspired tenderly by the side of the farmhouse, arms intertwined and speaking in hushed tones. Dale nodded off in his chair on top of the R.V., his rifle laid precariously in his lap. As Harlow passed the grove of tents, she spotted Rick and Lori hovering over their son, watching as he scribbled in his schoolbook. T-Dog stood farther off, chopping firewood and humming a low, baritone tune. The thing that touched Harlow most was the sight of Carol, standing in solitude by Sophia's grave, head bowed and hands clasped in front of her breast in silent reverence to her daughter's memory. Harlow felt a mixture of sorrow and relief – sorrow for Carol's loss, yet relief that she finally found the will to acknowledge her deceased offspring.

Yet there was something off about all of this. As the narcotics revved into high gear and swallowed her mind in dizzy euphoria, she noticed Shane and Andrea were nowhere to be found.

"Probably watching over Randall," Harlow told herself, tugging at the drooping collar of her once white shirt, now beige from dirt and grime that refused to wash clean. She pressed on, ignoring the dulled pain from her midsection with each breath drawn as the campsite transformed into open pastures, Daryl's campsite drawing closer with each advancement.

She found his familiar figure hunched, back facing her, as he gathered his freshly made bolts and fixed them to the detachable quiver mounted perpendicular to the stock of the crossbow. It fit three of his arrows, yet he had several more in his bearlike grasp. Harlow smirked to herself as she crept closer in silent steps. She was getting better at moving without making a sound, something that often annoyed Daryl when she would creep up behind him, much like she did at that very moment.

"Looks like you could use a quiver, Legolas."

Daryl jumped, wheeling around in flourish. "Christ, Harlow, you scared the holy hell outta me!" But he looked glad to see her, at least through his permanent scowl. His line of sight trailed over her petite frame, stopping short as he fixed his gaze upon her exposed laceration.

Embarrassment caused her face to flush a bright red as she hastily adjusted her mane of blonde so that it covered her now visible wound.

"Don't look at it." She advised, worried he would be disgusted with her physical appearance. Of all the people she surrounded herself with, his reaction was the one that mattered most.

"The hell you on about?" Daryl disregarded her plea as he stomped towards the girl, standing over her with cocked brows. "Tryin' to hide that?" He pointed the tips of his arrows towards the right side of her face. "Saw it once before. Ain't nothin' new, Harlow."

The way his gritty voice said her name made her mind whirl in a way that had nothing to do with the codeine.

"I know," She muttered. "I just…"

"You jus' _what_?" Daryl growled out when her trail of words went cold.

"I don't want you, like, I don't know – freak the holy fuck out or something!" She waved her hands in exasperation. "I don't want you to think I'm _ugly_!"

Daryl raised his brows as high as they would go, creating divots of wrinkles in his forehead.

"What are you, stupid?" Daryl asked, visibly perplexed. "You ain't ugly. Even if you were, who gives a damn?"

He then proceeded to do something that made her eyes widen in surprise. Raising a free hand, he moved the tendrils of hair out of her face and tucked each strand behind her ear, the coarse pads of his fingertips grazing the curve of her lobe and sending chills throughout her limbs. Her pewter orbs sought out each of his features, from his squinted cobalt eyes to the scruff of facial surrounding thinly pursed lips. Her thoughts flowed like a rushing current, and she found herself wondering how his rough fingers would feel against the other parts of her body…

_Knock it off!_ She internally scolded herself. _Stop it, you idiot, stop it!_

She realized, with sudden lucidity, that it wasn't just his touch that sent her nerves into overdrive; everything about the man fascinated her, from his brooding exterior to his choleric essence. Every bit of him kindled a feeling within, something she once believed to be snuffed out of existence.

In her daze, she could have sworn she saw Daryl's own face turn a delicate shade of red as he pulled away from her.

"You look fine," He snapped, bending low to pick up his crossbow. When he straightened back up, any trace of a bashful plight was wiped clean. "You look like someone who shouldn't be fucked with. You look b-" His words were cut short as he grappled with something internally. Clearing his throat, he croaked out, "You look _fine_."

"Well thanks," She said quietly, waves of relief crashing over her as she forced her thoughts back to reality.

_He's not freaked out… thank the sweet fucking baby Jesus!_

"All right, then, you comin' or what?"

She raised her brows. "Didn't know you were going anywhere… but sure, I'll tag along." She adjusted the straps of her shoulder holster and gripped the handle of her knife, relieved that Hershel now allowed them to carry on his property.

"What's the agenda for today, then?" Harlow asked with peaked interest.

He shrugged the strap of his crossbow over his shoulder, a gleam of feral excitement flashing before his blue eyes.

"We're goin' huntin'."


	16. Your Protector

**A/N: I apologize for how long it took to shovel out this chapter. I'm currently in the process of moving from one apartment to the other, so it might take a couple of weeks before the next part, but I thought I'd give you guys a little treat at the end to help hold you over… :) **

**Song Recommendation: "Your Protector" by Fleet Foxes.**

* * *

_"As you lay to die beside me, baby,  
On the morning that you came,  
Would you wait for me,  
The other one,  
Would you wait for me?"_

Your Protector

Daryl Dixon transformed into something else entirely the moment he crossed the barrier into the woodland realm. Every step, every movement, became meticulous and effortless as he weaved through maze of trees, his back hunched and feet padding through the mire with hardly a sound.

Harlow trailed behind, clutching a string of dead vermin. She struggled through the tufts of leafage, not as graceful or silent as her comrade, but continued onward none the less, entranced with him like he was with the surrounding environment. His rugged appearance blended into the surrounding landscape, eyes darting back and forth with each sound that hummed in the distance. Whether it was the distant scurrying of an animal, or something else more sinister, neither of them were entirely certain.

Harlow knew, with each jolt of pain from her side, that she would be completely useless against any undead being lurking in the shadows of the towering trees, but with Daryl, she felt safe. With Daryl as her protector, she had nothing to fear.

A deep growl issued from Harlow's midsection as Daryl craned his neck, glancing back at her with raised brows.

"Sorry," She murmured. "My stomach is a loud mother fucker."

He snorted, turning back to face the way ahead. "Tell yer stomach to be patient. I'm teachin' you some important shit." He waved his hand, silently signaling Harlow to join him, which she complied almost instantly. The lifeless squirrels and rabbits bumped against her leg with each step she took, nearly quelling her hunger.

"Trackin', huntin' – you need to learn these things if you want to survive out here. You see this?" He kicked out at the ground below, motioning with the tip of his boot. Harlow squinted her eyes as she examined the soft earth. A set of paw prints, fresh in the morass, were visible through fallen leaves and strewn branches.

"The hell do those belong to?" She questioned, placing a free hand against her tender side.

Daryl hunched low, resting a forearm against his knee while the other reached out to touch one of the imprints.

"Rabbit, from the looks of it," He said slowly.

"How do you figure?" Harlow asked, cocking her head to the side.

"Hind paws are bigger than the front ones," He ran the tip of his index finger along the edge of each print, as if gathering more information from touch alone. "When they hop 'round, back legs land in front of the front ones." He tilted his head towards her. "Squirrel tracks are pretty damn similar. Only difference is front paws on squirrels sit next to each other. Rabbit forepaws stagger out behind, or appear right on top of each other like these." He motioned again to the tracks. "These're fresh… the little shit who made 'em shouldn't be far ahead-"

Harlow ceased his talking by gripping his upper arm with surprising strength, seeing something that eluded him.

"_Shh_… over there," She hissed, jerking her head to the right of them. There, nestled under the towering trees above, was a cottontail, poised and alert under the canopy of leaves.

"Wouldja look at that…" Daryl rose to his feet and, in one fluid motion, retrieved his crossbow, causing Harlow to relinquish her grasp on his arm.

"Poor thing," Harlow turned to Daryl, sticking her lower lip out in a playful manner. "Haven't you killed enough Peter Cottontail's for one day?"

He gave Harlow a sideways grimace. "I ain't doin' it… _you_ are." Pulling the crossbow's strap away from his well-built frame, he tore the rope of animals from her grasp and threw the weapon into her unexpected hands.

"W-what?" She gave him an incredulous look while fumbling awkwardly with the crossbow. "I've never fired one of these before!"

"Good a time as any to learn," Daryl grunted out. "Already loaded, all you got to do is aim and pull the trigger."

Harlow took a moment to smirk down at the ground below. "You're going to trust me enough to use your crossbow?"

He snorted loudly. "Unless you find a way to wreck the shit outta it in the next thirty seconds… I think you'll be fine."

"We'll see, then."

Harlow raised the weapon awkwardly, with an unskilled touch. The nearby rabbit seemed oblivious to its impending doom, sniffing and pawing at the ground beneath. Harlow furrowed her brows, grappling with the weapon, one hand on the foregrip and the other near the trigger.

"Put it up to your shoulder," Daryl advised coolly from beside her. "Here… like this."

Daryl circled to the other side of the girl, grabbing the underside of the crossbow and pulling it closer to her angular frame, nestling the stock into the curvature of her shoulder blade.

"Bring your left hand up a bit," He murmured into her ear, placing the rough pads of his fingers against the softness of her flesh, guiding her hand back along the underside of the crossbow until it rested inches away from where it lingered moments earlier.

"Right there."

Harlow didn't have to look to notice how close his body was to hers. She found it difficult to swallow as the warmth of his breath caressed the right side of her face, his words humming in her ear and touch sending waves of goose bumps along her outstretched arm.

"Keep your other hand near the trigger and look through the sight… keep it steady, now…"

She did exactly what was told of her, gazing intently through the scope and hovering her index finger over the trigger. She failed to notice that Daryl was no longer gazing out at the wildlife before them, but to her, studying her marred features with a keen eye. He was mere inches away from her, and yet all he could do was stare, keeping his hand against hers as he enjoyed this brief, tender moment before tearing away from her, stepping back and slinging the collection of dead animals over his shoulder and folding his arms firmly in front of his chest.

"Go for it, Harlow."

She squeezed the trigger. The crossbow jolted in her frail arms as it launched a well-crafted bolt in the direction of the rabbit. The tip of the arrow missed its perked ears by inches, burrowing into a nearby trunk of a towering oak. The rabbit sprung sideways and scurried off, unscathed, yet startled.

"Aw, _crap_." Harlow lowered the weapon with a defeated look. "Well that fucking sucked."

She turned to Daryl, expecting to see his trademark scowl, yet was surprised to find his face alight up with a beaming grin. It was the first smile ever witnessed by her, and she was taken aback by how his features changed with the simple curve of his lips, the warmth melting away his cold exterior.

"Almost had it, didn't cha?"

His smile was contagious, feeling the corners of her own mouth twitch upwards in a wide grin.

"Probably best if we let _you_ skewer cute little bunnies with arrows and not me," She chuckled under her breath, silently wondering how she could get him to smile more often, to reveal that side of him that struggled to thrive underneath his harsh exterior.

"Here, you can have this back," She pushed his crossbow back into his powerful arms and made her way towards the arrow, its tip settled deep into the bark of the massive oak. She knelt low to the ground, wincing as another surge of pain radiated from her midsection, before gripping the bolt by the shaft and tearing it free. As she made a motion to rise back to her feet, a distant rustle of noise quelled any movement, followed by faraway voices – or the monstrous groans of the dearly departed, coming to do a bit of hunting of their own.

"Fuck me sideways," she hissed, craning her neck to gaze back at Daryl, whose smile all but faded as the nefarious sounds reached his ears. Without thinking twice, she grasped for her holster, retrieving her Beretta and holding the grip with both hands before slowly rising to her feet with teeth clenched tightly shut. She turned back to the scenery before her, nothing but calm, still foliage.

"You fire that gun and you'll have more of 'em comin'," Daryl whispered, now standing directly behind her, the bowstring of his weapon pulled and fresh arrow nocked.

"I know," She stated calmly before taking a step forward. "Let them come."

Daryl let out an exasperated huff of breath from behind as she set off, advancing with swift, silent purpose. Her feet narrowly missed the strewn branches and leaves with each step, holding the gun to her side with the barrel pointed to the earth below. She thought it misfortunate that their brief, carefree moment could be snuffed out with the encroaching presence of the dead.

As she pressed onward, the distant noises drew louder, becoming more prominent and clear. A low, masculine growl mingled with the desperate whimpering of a female, spurring Harlow to move faster until she came across a clearing of trees. There, in plain view, was the source of the ruckus, causing Harlow to recoil in repulsion.

Shane and Andrea were intertwined on the forest floor, naked, and in the midst of making furious copulation, oblivious to Harlow, who stared in shock and awe. It wasn't the chorus of macabre horrors that she heard – it was the passionate, zealous cries of two living beings in the throes of love making.

The lower half of Shane's broad frame worked in a crazed frenzy, grinding his hips into the blonde woman, eliciting a guttural moan as she spread her legs as far as they would go. Her hands grappled with the dried leaves below before she settled on digging her claws into his back, rising her hips to meet every frenzied thrust.

Harlow's jaw dropped, both sickened and oddly entranced with the scene before her. Shane was an insufferable ass, that much was certain, but goddamn did he make Andrea howl in gratification.

_"So that's where those two idiots went off to…"_ She thought bitterly to herself.

She turned to face Daryl, who stood beside her with a repulsed look that rivaled her own, yet there was something else that lurked behind his cobalt orbs. He seemed curious at their actions, as if he himself never experienced something as intimate as what the two of them witnessed at that moment. He glanced towards her, locking his gaze with hers, and opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced as she raised her index finger and pressed it against her lips, shaking her head in a silent "no". Holstering her Beretta, she raised her now free hand and grabbed hold of his arm, pulling him towards her as the pair slowly retreated from view, moving through the trees and shrubbery until the sight and sounds of Shane and Andrea fucking in the middle of the woods were no more.

"Apart of me wishes that we'd come across walkers instead… and not _that_," She muttered under her breath, ducking under a stray branch while struggling onward. She shook her head as if that alone would dislodge the burning image from her mind. "Probably would have been less disturbing."

"Yeah… probably," Daryl grunted out absentmindedly, his steps falling in sync with her own.

"I could have gone my entire life without seeing Shane's bare ass."

An uneasy chuckle issued from Daryl, nearly catching Harlow off guard. That was _twice_ in one afternoon. She was getting better at wiping that scowl off of his face.

"You and me both," Daryl's laughter subsisted, though the remnants lingered in a small grin. "C'mon, I'll show you how to field dress and cook these sumbitches up."

* * *

"You can say it, Daryl – my cooking _sucks_."

The two congregated around Daryl's campfire as the sun made its glorious descent beneath the horizon. Waves of orange burst through amaranthine and azure, casting the distant pastures in a dim glow. It was a sight that never failed to take Harlow's breath away, even then as she seethed over her inadequate cooking skills.

"It ain't that bad," Daryl said after forcing a mouthful of charred squirrel down his gullet. "Maybe a bit over-done… some seasonin' could've helped, too… probably should've soaked it in a brine..."

"Tastes pretty gamey." Harlow poked at the remains of food and brittle bones on her plate.

"Can't really help that," Daryl said before shoving another hefty portion of food into his mouth. "Don't matter how it tastes, as long as you eat somethin' to stay alive. Tomorrow I'll teach you how to make traps. Takes a long while to set 'em up, but it's better than wastin' bullets you don't even have, especially when yer out on yer own."

Harlow smirked down towards her plate. She relished his company, finding it difficult to tear herself away from him, and silently looked forward to the next day.

"Why are you teaching me this stuff?" She inquired, unable to keep her question down for a moment longer. "I've got… _we've_ got you, and Hershel's farm seems like it's doing well, considering it's the end of the motherfucking world. Why teach me to fend for myself? I mean it's great and all… but why?"

The light in Daryl's eyes extinguished as a darkened shadow engulfed his features. He chewed over his words before speaking in a low voice, "Don't know how long this'll last."

His answer snuffed out her own beaming grin. "What do you mean?" She knew his answer before he even had a chance to reply.

"None of this'll last. Walkers will come in and tear this whole place down, probably 'fore winter comes. I've seen it too many damn times already. We think we've found somethin' – some _place_ that walkers can't reach, but that ain't never the case. No place is safe – only safer." He cleared his throat, chucking a gnawed-on bone towards the distant foliage. "But it won't last."

Harlow felt her heart sink into the depths of her stomach. "You're right… of _course_ you're right." She leaned her head back, turning her sorrowful features towards the dimly lit sky above. "When my brother died, I knew these sorts of things wouldn't last. I realized that people were going to die, things were going to change, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. I could only accept it and try to adapt. I thought I did a good job at it, but after meeting you… after you brought me here, I realize now that I don't want this to end. I don't want to lose this… lose _you_."

She refused to look at Daryl, or anything except the heavens above, allowing a humorless chuckle to escape past flushed lips. "If I had a soul, I would be bawling my eyes out right now."

Silence followed her words, and for a moment she felt embarrassed, internally kicking herself for telling him all of that. In her peripherals, she saw Daryl's outline rise from his place and circle around the fire, taking a careful seat next to her forlorn figure, perhaps sitting closer than he normally would.

"Not gonna lie, Harlow, you've got one helluva soul."

Harlow lowered her gaze back towards him, watching as he draped his arms over his knees. She couldn't help but smile, though the warmth failed to travel to her steely eyes.

"You really think so?" She murmured into the dusky gloom.

"You bet yer ass I do," His mouth twitched, struggling to keep a smile from forming. "It's kept yer humanity alive this long, gotta count for somethin'."

He turned his gaze towards her, locking his eyes with her own. "Lemme tell you somethin' – no matter what happens out there, or what happens _here_, you'll have me to look after you." His raspy voice seemed deeper than usual, heavily ladened with some unknown emotion. "You've lost a lot, hell, we all have, but there's one thing you ain't never gonna lose… and that's me."

Harlow felt her insides swell with overwhelming affection for the callous southerner, revealing a tender part of himself to her, and only her. Nothing else mattered to Harlow as she felt her body lean closer to his begrimed form, his limbs becoming rigid as the space between the two lessened. His eyes darted away from hers and towards her mouth, involuntarily flicking his tongue against his lower lip and coiling his hands into balled fists. His sudden apprehensive demeanor caused Harlow to hesitate, studying his features for some sort of sign as to what to do next.

"Daryl?" She whispered, tilting her head to the side. Surely he knew what she wanted to do, what she ached to do, with every fiber of her being urging her to just _go for it_. She was never one to make any sort of first move – what if he didn't want this? What if his protective nature was purely for platonic reasons?

Daryl swallowed hard, taking an uneasy inhale of breath. "Hmm?"

"I…" Her words lodged themselves into the back of her throat. Everything about him left her speechless and awestruck; every handsome and flawed feature that he possessed, every grating note that passed through roughened lips, every time his cobalt hued eyes locked with her slate stained orbs, it all drove her to the brink of insanity.

_"Fine,"_ She thought brashly to herself, _"If I can't fucking talk, then I'll just have to nut up and __**show**__ him."_

In one swift and defining moment, she brought her face towards his, enveloping the coarseness of his lower lip in a soft, delicate kiss.


End file.
